


A Certain Broken Testament

by Brosephg



Category: Toaru Kagaku no Railgun | A Certain Scientific Railgun, Toaru Majutsu no Index | A Certain Magical Index
Genre: Affectionate Harem, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Harem, F/M, Frenda Lives, Harems, Loving Harem, Multi, Oral Sex, Rough Sex, Semi-Public Sex, Sex, Vaginal Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-05
Updated: 2020-11-27
Packaged: 2021-03-08 21:34:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 40
Words: 320,394
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27393559
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Brosephg/pseuds/Brosephg
Summary: Kamijou Touma is dead and gone; but he isn't. Not all things can be so easily explained, nor are all things so black and white. Can heroes become villains, when one is consumed by darkness, their humanity cast aside? AU. Touma x harem.
Relationships: Himegami Aisa/Kamijou Touma, Index Librorum Prohibitorum/Kamijou Touma, Itsuwa/Kamijou Touma, Kamijou Touma/Kanzaki Kaori, Kamijou Touma/Kumokawa Seria, Kamijou Touma/Lessar, Kamijou Touma/Misaka Mikoto, Kamijou Touma/Musujime Awaki, Kamijou Touma/Othinus, Kamijou Touma/Shokuhou Misaki, Saten Ruiko & Original Character(s)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 9





	1. Something Wrong

**Author's Note:**

> This piece was originally posted in multiple parts to another platform, beginning on 10/22/2016, and is set after the events of New Testament Volume 17 in a divergence from the established canon of the 'ToAru Majutsu no Index" series of light novels written by Kamachi Kazuma and illustrated by Haimura Kiyotaka.
> 
> Before we begin, there's a quick disclaimer I'd like to put in place. I do not, in any way, shape or form own, or claim ownership of anything within the franchise(s) written and owned by Kamachi Kazuma. This piece is a non-profit fan-made love letter to the wonderful Toaru Majutsu no Index series; though it brings joy to myself, and hopefully to those who read it, this piece will generate no gain, monetary or otherwise, for me in any way, shape or form. Toaru Majutsu no Index is written and owned by Kamachi Kazuma, and illustrated by Haimura Kiyotaka. Toaru Kagaku no Railgun is written and owned by Kamachi Kazuma, and illustrated by Fuyukawa Motoi. Toaru Kagaku no Accelerator is written and owned by Kamachi Kazuma, featuring illustrations by Yamaji Arata.
> 
> Welcome! Whether you're a new reader, or, an existing reader who is currently following along with either Times Change, or a Certain Strange Scenario, or, even both, it's great to have you here. If you've stumbled upon this piece by accident, or simply misclicked, I welcome you all the same! Whether or not you should decide to take your leave is, of course, entirely up to you. If you decide to stay along for the ride, you have my appreciation! If not, no hard feelings.
> 
> A Certain Broken Testament will be a bit different than the 'brother' and 'sister' pieces I'm currently writing, those being a Certain Strange Scenario, and Times Change. While the aforementioned pieces feature the characters of Kamijou Touma and Shokuhou Misaki as a functional, married couple, with aspirations for a positive future, and a possible extension of their family, this piece will be quite different, in that, eventually, one of the narrative's end goals will be the establishing of a functional polygamous relationship, between Kamijou Touma, and his female admirers. A Certain Broken Testament will take place in an alternate universe, separate from the alternate universe of a Certain Strange Scenario, and the alternate timeline of Times Change.
> 
> The Kamijou Touma of a Certain Broken Testament will be quite different, when compared to his Strange Scenario, and Times Change counterparts. That is all I can say on the matter, for the moment. To learn more, you'll have to read on, and uncover the story that's told for yourself.
> 
> A thousand thanks. You're all wonderful!

Kamijou Touma had simply sat, and stared, for some time. The sun had gone down, when he'd sat himself down, which must've been hours ago; still sitting, the great fiery hydrogen orb's light was returning, as the planet's moon prepared to begin her trip to the other side of the world.

What time was it? Did it even really matter? It was early in the morning, Kamijou Touma could tell that much, at least. From the metallic doorframes, with their spotless panes of glass that lead out, onto his dorm's small balcony, dull, weak, orange-colored light was entering his dorm's living quarters. The wooden floor of the dorm's living quarter's glowed, majestically, beneath the light.

Watching individual beams of sunlight dance, back and forth, as if they swayed in a gentle breeze brought nothing, to Kamijou Touma, when it should've brought something, anything.

Milky, in coloration, the dorm's walls were bathed in the early morning's orange-colored light. Though it didn't bring any temporary changes in coloration to the walls, it did seem to highlight the walls, and bring them to life, despite the relative darkness of the dorm's living quarters, with the exception of its living quarter's floors. Next to the dorm room's occupied bed, a closet door, wooden, dark brown in coloration, was closed, shut tightly.

From a wooden, light-colored coatrack, which was mounted to the wall directly next to the closet's left door, above the dorm's bed, Kamijou Touma's school uniform's shirt hung, by its collar. Bathed in the early morning's orange light, dust covered its surfaces, highlighted by the natural light. A short-sleeved shirt, orange in coloration, hung next to it, in a similar state of neglect.

A small, electronic clock, round-shaped, and black in coloration, sat upon a small, round stand, next to the occupied bed; it might as well have been the girls' bed, rather than his own. It wasn't like he actually slept in it. The clock's LCD screen, a few inches in length, and a few inches in height, displayed the time, in lines of bright red.

4:38 AM. That was the time, apparently. It was earlier than he'd expected. Kamijou Touma should've been begging for sleep, his body pulling itself towards his dorm's bathroom, so that he could awkwardly tumble into its bathtub, exhausted, and fall into slumber. Kamijou Touma should've been concerned about getting enough sleep; not only because a lack of sleep should've been negatively affecting his high school career, but, because such was unhealthy.

Kamijou Touma wasn't; he didn't need to concern himself with sleep, anymore. Kamijou Touma didn't need to sleep, he didn't need to eat, or drink. Kamijou Touma didn't need to do anything that would've made him seem even relatively human.

Utterly world-weary, and without any activity better to engage in, for the moment, Touma raised his right hand, upwards, and looked at it. For some moments, nothing out of the ordinary occurred.

At the dorm room's coffee table, a small piece of furniture, light grey in coloration, Kamijou Touma was seated, his legs sprawled out, beneath the table's surface. His posterior was seated upon the floor.

Directly behind him, a bookshelf of average size stood, pressed against the dorm's westernmost wall, with three shelves, each of which had been almost entirely consumed by many different pieces of literary works. Silver, in coloration, the spines of the books, and issues of manga that had been stacked there helped to bring the shelf's otherwise dull coloration to life. Shades of red, hues of blue, and practically every other color of the rainbow, or any number of rainbows.

Tiny objects leapt from the palm of Kamijou Touma's right hand, seemingly allowed past the thing that was both a curse, and a blessing. There were billions of them, jumping from his right hand. Kamijou Touma knew just how many of them there were. His mind could count each one, knowing them, individually, in the time it would take a human being to blink. Resembling a swirling, grey-colored mist, they rose from his hand, dancing, spinning, producing soft, buzzing noises.

Zeeee… nunununuuu.

Kamijou Touma briefly considered what he'd been taught, or, more accurately, what he'd had been told. If he visualized something, just about anything, the nanorobots would obey, and come together, cohering to form the structure. "Keep it simple," they'd said. "Break yourself, and you'll be of no further use."

He'd show them who was using who.

Kamijou Touma's mind travelled directly to "stabbing weapon". Simplistic, savage, not too complicated. Such wouldn't stress him further; Touma was angry, vengeful, frustrated, desperate. At least, that's what he was told. A stabbing weapon could be used to take a life, and ease his apparently existent frustrations, however temporarily. Even if such an action was forbidden, it was a beautiful, satisfying thought to think.

So long as fantasies remained fantasies, no trouble would come of mental catharsis.

Simplistic, straightened, like the tip of a lance, rather than any sort of "traditional" one-handed stabbing, or slashing weapon, Kamijou Touma saw it, within himself. Not within a "third eye"; he saw it, floating before him, blocking his view of his right hand; only the tips of the extremity's fingers were visible.

Zeeee… nunununuuu.

Touma's right hand began to elongate. Stretching outwards, his right hand's four fingers, and its thumb, were forcibly attached to one another. The nanorobots performed their duty, as his mind dictated. Thousands of thoughts rushed past him; Touma could catalogue each. He was performing feats he shouldn't have been able to, but could. The fact that such was occurring wasn't troubling, when it should have been deeply disturbing. From his wrists, and from his upper arms, billions of nearly microscopic things leapt, appearing as the same mist, dark grey in coloration.

The right hand that belonged to Kamijou Touma was no longer a right hand at all. It'd transformed, completely, taking on the form of a fairly simplistic-looking weapon, attached to his arm's wrist. From its tip, to the wrist it was attached to, Kamijou Touma's mist-like nanorobots ran upwards, and downwards, like the stabbing object was a lake, the nanorobots making up its many currents.

Another success. Kamijou Touma was growing stronger, more powerful. Touma was gaining control over this disgusting slap to Mother Nature's face. His lips curled, upwards, exposing his pearly, white, perfectly straightened teeth. Baby steps would lead to great things, he knew it. Every walk had to start somewhere.

His form was 'clothed', but not clothed. Outwardly, Touma appeared to be fairly normally dressed, for the early hours of the morning. That disgustingly typical dark-colored, button-up shirt, with a short-sleeved, orange shirt beneath, a few buttons of the dark shirt undone, to expose the orange coloration, and a pair of simple, long, dark-colored pants to match the outer layer. Both appeared to be wrinkled, as if they'd been taken from some dirty laundry hamper, and thrown on at a moment's notice.

Just as the simplistic stabbing weapon, formed where Kamijou Touma's right hand had once been began to curl, downwards, resembling a sickle, in its shape, there was a disturbance of the peace, and of the secrecy.

In the occupied bed, a few feet away from Kamijou Touma, something shuffled. There were two vaguely body-shaped lumps, the left of which seemed to be moving about. Touma shook his right hand, upwards and downwards. The limpness that should've been present wasn't. There was no weight at all, no firmness, no resistances, no bones and no skin that could be felt.

Kamijou Touma barely felt like he existed at all. From his right wrist, streams of mist-like nanorobots rushed back into his torso, fleeing, as his right hand reformed, re-made by nanorobots flowing downwards, along his right arm, its fingers stretching, moving apart, and becoming individual extremities again on their own.

Zeeee. Nunununuuu.

The bed's plain, white-colored sheets shifted, as the body-shaped lump, on the left side rose upwards, casting back the light comforter. The bed's wooden frame, dark brown in coloration, produced a series of creaks. Streamer-like locks of golden-colored hair were visible, as the body-shaped lump identified itself.

It was, in fact, a she. Swinging bother of her long, majestic legs over the bed's edge, and placing her bare, slender, feminine feet on the wooden floor of the dorm's living quarters, Othinus produced a yawn, as she stretched, leaning backwards, and raised either of her arms into the air, their wrists bending outward, to the left, and to the right, respectively. Five or six inches under six feet in height, Othinus' functioning, visible left eye's lids opened, as did those of her non-functioning right's, slightly revealing the moist, emerald green iris within. Othinus' right eye was not moist.

Reaching down to her breasts, her golden-colored bangs were slightly frizzled, from her body's unconscious rolling, as she'd slept. Kamijou Touma's mind registered an influx of something, data, perhaps, that could've been called "jealousy". Othinus at least had a means of passing the night's darkness by, in the comfortable embrace of slumber.

"One-Eyed" Othinus possessed a right eye, though it was anything but real. It was eye-shaped, appearing as a proper eye, its iris the same coloration as that of her left; but it wasn't of natural origin, nor did it restore her right eye's vision, which had long ago been lost. Constructed of glass, the former Magic God's right eye was incapable of movement, of its own accord, instead simply sitting, affixed into a straight, forward position, forever.

Wordlessly, Kamijou Touma cast his gaze to the former Magic God, who'd risen up from the bed, leaving the body-shaped lump on the right side behind. The right lump rhythmically rose, and fell, with every few seconds that passed.

Othinus' curvy, feminine form was clad in an outfit that could bring a smile even to the face of Kamijou Touma; the influx of what must've been data could've been identified as "amusement". Salmon pink, in coloration, Othinus' sleeping attire consisted of a long-sleeved, buttoned up shirt, which exposed an inch of her naval, and a pair of loose-fitting pants, which hugged her waist. From top to bottom, the outfit's shirt, and pants, were both covered in the repeated image of the same smiling, blushing, cartoonish sheep's face, surrounded by tufts of fluffy-looking, white wool.

"You're up early, Imagine Breaker. Again," the former Magic God mumbled, as she stumbled, groggily. As she yawned, Othinus inquired, "what troubles you, Imagine Breaker? You've hardly slept a wink. Come to bed. The nun won't attack you, I'm certain."

"Can't sleep, tried all night," Touma responded, semi-truthfully. "What's wrong with you, Othinus? You're no early riser. Just get up to bother me?"

"I'm experiencing the symptoms associated with the need to urinate," Othinus explained, between yawns. "This "being a human" nonsense is still so trying. Try to sleep, you fool. We can kick the nun out, and place her in the bathtub. Perhaps you'll sleep better with me."

Nonchalantly, Othinus' body drooped forward, as she quietly smacked her lips together. "You know you always do. Don't be such a prude, Imagine Breaker; finding comfort in another is hardly a sensation to avoid."

Touma shook his head, from side to side, no. "Thanks for the offer. I'm not going to be able to. Trust me. I just have to wait it out; I'm not even tired, I'm just bored to fucking death. Maybe I'll just go out, or something, take a walk around the block. Rental store might be open."

Othinus said nothing more. Rolling her functioning eye, unapprovingly, the former Magic God returned to the bedside. She swiftly tossed the comforter, and the sheets of the bed away from the lump on the right. Sleeping, her lips curled into a wide, warm smile, blushing perpetually, was Index. Clad in a simple, long-sleeved white shirt, the nun with the long, silver hair rubbed the side of her face against the pillow, and mumbled, to herself.

"Tou-ma. Tooooou? Ma. Tooouummmaaaaaa. I'm going to bite you now. Tasty, mmmmm."

Touma rose up, quite swiftly. Without hesitation, and without stumbling as one suffering from the effects of sleep deprivation normally would've, he approached the former Magic God, and folded his arms, once his legs had come to a grinding halt. Standing mere inches away from the golden-haired, perpetually, outwardly fourteen-year-old girl, Kamijou Touma took a stand.

"For fuck's sake, Othinus, don't wake her up. Go take your pee, go back to bed. You need your sleep. I don't. I mean, I can't. I tried for hours, and I got nowhere with it. Just…"

Touma turned his back, and threw his hands up, exasperated, as he walked towards the dorm's door. "Forget it. I'm going out. There's breakfast, for you and Index. Not much, but, it's food. Lunch for you is packed. Yen's on the table. Maybe I'll see you in class. Depends on how things play ou—"

Less of a sensation, and more of an influx of data, which Kamijou Touma could clearly identify, two arms had wrapped themselves around his midsection. Their hands were placed over his upper chest, grasping at nothing. In his back, it'd seemed that the former Magic God had placed the side of her face; the left, in fact, as another internal influx of data detailed.

"Stop this, Imagine Breaker; stop this cryptic nonsense this instant."

Othinus' words, though commanding, didn't align with her voice, which was oddly weak, for such a headstrong individual. The vocalization was pathetic, a small, dying thing that had disappeared into nothingness, once it had fled her lips.

It was Touma's turn. "Stop what? I'm in control. I do as I please, Othinus. Nothing can hold me back. I'm the master of my own destiny, now. You know how long I've been dragged by circumstance. No more.

"You know a lot, about a lot, but, there're things that not even you know, or understand. I understand them; I understand them all, now. You know plenty. But I know everything."

Struggling to keep her voice down, and failing, Othinus spoke up, her following vocalization closer to a shout than casual speech. "You've been doing this for weeks. This is the final straw; nearly four weeks without sleep, without eating, without drinking a single drop of any liquid substance! What is wrong with you, Imagine Breaker? What happened, during those three days? Where were you? Something happened, something that has changed you for the worse. You haven't slept a wink. You've not eaten, nor consumed any liquid, and, here you are, fit as a fiddle. Such is impossible. Stop your hiding at once! I'll tolerate this not a moment longer!"

The normally collected Othinus had lost her cool. Panting, slightly, her face growing red, as blood, liquid anger flowed into her face; it was then that Othinus realized something truly strange, indeed.

Kamijou Touma was cold. Completely and utterly cold to the touch, as if she'd embraced a block of solid ice. His body, which should've been warm to the touch, room temperature, at least, was freezing cold. Blood, which should've been circulating throughout his veins, exuding some level of warmth, wasn't flowing, evidently. Without blood, there was no life; but there he stood, alive.

The left hand of Kamijou Touma, that'd fallen over Othinus own fingers, both those of her left hand, and her right, was cold, as well. There was no pulse. A shiver travelled down Othinus' spine, as her entire body shook, slightly, like some tremor was afflicting her. Only once, not again did it occur.

"Imagine Breaker, every time I have confronted you, every time the nun has confronted you, or those you call friends have tried to confront you, you've brushed us off. It… hurts, you know. It hurts us all, Imagine Breaker. In that heart of gold, I know there's someone who is grieving at your actions."

Kamijou Touma's body wasn't rising, nor was it falling, the way it should've been. For the first time in a month, and three days, Othinus had managed to get close to Kamijou Touma, physically; maybe she'd managed to take him by surprise. Maybe he'd chosen to allow this, maybe he'd even wanted this. The former Magic God couldn't be sure.

She could feel him, and, she could feel his body's lack of movement. He simply wasn't breathing; but he was alive. A contradiction, an impossibility, something not even he, despite all of his victories, and impossible survivals in the toughest of situations, should've been capable of.

The former Magic God's mind raced. Had he been the victim of necromancy, little more than a walking corpse? He wasn't rotting, his form didn't smell of rot. He smelled like nothing. That all too noticeable 'scent of Touma' wasn't present; nothing was.

"I can hold it no longer, Imagine Breaker," Othinus remarked. Taking Touma's cold, seemingly lifeless hand into her own, she pulled him along, behind her; or she tried to, suddenly being tugged, backwards, as Othinus closed the maximum distance between herself, and Touma, that her arm would allow. It was as if he weighed a hundred tons. Touma didn't move. "I have to urinate, and I'm not leaving you alone, out here. Come."

Kamijou Touma relented, stepping forward, and following the former Magic God, anything but reluctantly.

Touma was all too self-aware. This was the moment he, Touma, was supposed to be awkwardly blushing, and shaking his head, trying to make up some nonsensical excuse for why he needed to be somewhere else; but the need to perform such an action wasn't present.

The idea of potentially seeing Othinus' female anatomy, a girl's vulva, didn't bring any foreign sensations. No blushing, no stuttering. Nothing.

There was something, certainly, inwardly, however; an influx of data suggested that it was "pleasure", or, possibly, "the desire to obtain pleasure, carnal or otherwise, as a form of release". Could he even experience pleasure? Was he bound to never to know the purest, simplest acts of love between human beings? Data suggested a sensation, that could waltz hand in hand with such ponderings; possible disappointment.

The door to the dorm's laundry room, and its bathroom was opened. Light grey, in coloration, the door's rectangular knob, which Othinus' spare hand wrapped around, was an even lighter shade. Pushing the knob downwards, the former Magic God shouldered her way, quite aggressively, through the door, bare feet slapping against the cold, wooden floor.

Zeeee. Nunununuuu.

There it was, that sound. Othinus had heard it, before, late in the night, sometimes for hours on end, repeating, again and again, until slumber took her, and blocked the sounds out. Touma, quickly, and, quite uncharacteristically, shook himself free of Othinus' grasp with a viciousness she'd never experienced. From the palm of her hand, Touma had pulled his own hand. Like a chunk of ice that'd been slipped across her skin, Othinus shivered, from the coldness of the sensation.

Whipping her neck in the direction of the boy with the flattened, dark-colored hair, with the intention of delivering the mother of all rants upon him, Othinus' functioning left eye's eyelids instead widened, its pupil shrinking, her lips parting, at the sight before her.

Emerging, from the stump where Kamijou Touma's left arm had once been, a trail of mist, perpetually flowing, like the currents of a river, had attached itself to the exterior of the metallic door. It appeared that it had physically become one, with the door, flowing 'into' the door's surface.

"Fucking stuck," Touma grunted, as he began to step away. There was no resistance; the flowing mist grew longer, in response to Touma's movements. The farther away he moved, the longer the trail of mist became. Was there no limit to it? "G-glitch. Something. I'm… I'm stuck… Othinus… Othinus… help."

The influx of data in that moment could've been referred to as "panic". Shaking his torso, to the left of him, the mist seemed to fall apart, losing cohesiveness. Rather than falling towards the wooden floor, the mist surged backwards, as if it was being collected. The nanorobots that made up the mist were physically pulled back into the main, human-shaped mass that made up the form of Kamijou Touma.

Individual 'streams', made up of billions of nanorobots moved, flowing towards the stump where Kamijou Touma's right arm had been. Flowing into one another, the streams converted, at the stump's beginning, and began expanding outwards, forming a long, vaguely limb-shaped protrusion.

Othinus refused to back away from Kamijou Touma. His lips, having curled, downwards, into an almost guilty-looking frown, broke the former Magic God' heart. His eyes, at first glance, appeared like they had prior to the boy's three-day disappearance; upon closer inspection, Othinus saw the truth.

For the first time, in over a month, she'd well and truly managed to look into Touma's eyes; whether or not he'd been caught in a desperate situation, or, he'd willingly allowed her to peek in, Othinus resigned herself to likely never knowing the answer. The boy's eyes were filled, yet, empty. There was a barely-visible void that was unfilled. They were inhuman, as false as the glass eye that sat in her own right eye socket.

Kamijou Touma's left arm had seemingly re-assembled; the streamers of mist had converged, and had become a solid-looking extremity once again. For the briefest of moments, Othinus had been able to see the resemblance to a human arm, dark grey in coloration, before a layer of light, flesh-colored 'skin' had formed over the arm. The layer of skin, forming, produced no sound; the electronic, staticy sounds that the mist produced seemed to be exclusive to the mist.

The limb of dark grey coloration had been oddly robotic-looking, partially made up of plate-like 'patches', which had melded oddly, yet perfectly with the limb itself. The plate-like 'patches', and the arm itself, looked to have been perpetually moving, buzzing, like the surface of water which had been disturbed by the presence of some water-striding insect.

The light, flesh-colored 'skin' had resembled skin, at least. It'd formed, initially, as more mist, leaping from behind Kamijou Touma, likely from his back. Once it had begun to lay over the skeletal-looking extremity, its color changed, becoming pink, the color of light skin.

Throwing the dark brown, wooden door to the dorm's bathroom open, Othinus practically ripped her pants off, and threw herself down upon the white, porcelain throne. Touma placed himself against the white-colored, non-functional, metallic laundry machine, that sat a few feet away from the bathroom's doorframe, and stood, with his arms folded across his upper torso. He wasn't going to run away, either, evidently. Touma certainly wanted to run away, as fast as he possibly could. Incoming data informed him that such a situation would yield "undesirable results".

So far, the influxes of apparently omniscient data hadn't failed him. If anything, they seemed to have all the answers. Kamijou Touma wasn't going to stop listening to the advice the incoming data provided on a nonexistent hunch.

The sound of liquid, trickling, and making physical contact with liquid rang out, in the silence that had descended upon Touma, and the former Magic God, whose head hung low, her functioning left eye focused on the wooden floor beneath the soles of her feet.

"Othinus," Touma began. There was a seriousness in his voice that was becoming too characteristic. Firmness, and aggressiveness were present. The voice of a commander, coming from a boy who'd almost always been so complacent.

At least his voice sounded the same, in pitch. Othinus clamored for it, letting it wash over her, and bring soft, warm sensations to her ears. Whatever Kamijou Touma, the Imagine Breaker was, or had become, his voice remained the same.

"You never saw that. You didn't see anything. For fuck's sake, you saw nothing at all. Forget all about that."

"What was that? Imagine Breaker, what was that?!"

"God, keep your voice down," Touma scolded. "That fuck in the next dorm will hear. You want him over here, bleating about "Kami-yan" this and "Kami-yan" that? I sure as shit don't. You can't know. Nobody can know. This is my burden to bear, just another one in a long list of burdens."

Nearly forgetting, but just remembering in the nick of time to use toilet paper, to wipe herself, Othinus quickly, but quietly placed the toilet seat back down. Turning the sink's 'H' tap to her right, Othinus washed her hands, in the bathroom's sink, running either extremity beneath a stream of warm, comforting water, as she lathered the bar of soap between their palms.

After using the lower palm of her right hand to turn the 'H' tap back to the left, Othinus dried her hands, using the baby blue-colored towel hanging on the back of the bathroom's door. Othinus' left eye was focused on the surface of the door, studying it, so that she could attempt to distract herself from what she'd seen, even if such a distraction was temporary.

"Too many unanswered questions," Othinus spoke, after some time had passed. Having slipped the pants of her sleeping attire back on, the former Magic God exited the bathroom, abandoning the temporary sanctuary that the surface of the room's door had provided. "It's not an experience I'm accustomed to, Imagine Breaker."

Her left eye moved, to the left, its vision falling upon Kamijou Touma, who seemed content to look down at the wooden floor. Once, or twice, his vision visibly darted upwards, peering at the silver-colored, empty laundry basket, that sat across from the washer, pressed against the wall, a few feet away from the drier. Like its washer counterpart, the drier, too, was white, in coloration, with a simple, translucent door, circular in shape, in its center.

"Where have you been going at night, Imagine Breaker? You don't think the nun and I know that you slink out? You worry her. You worry me. You worry me very deeply."

"Who the fuck are you, Othinus? My wife?" Touma rhetorically inquired. "None of your business where I go, or what I do. None of Index's, either. It's none of your business what any of this is. It's mine, and mine alone. I think I'm doing just fine for myself. I'll shoulder the shit, and I'll deal with it."

Othinus looked upwards, at Kamijou Touma, whose head continued to hang low; Othinus couldn't have been sure, but, it looked to have sunken even lower. The resemblance to a beggar, on a street, was uncanny. If only the boy had his hand outstretched, with a paper cup sitting in its palm, the image would be splitting.

"I'm not your wife," Othinus answered, the slightest hint of frustration in her voice, "but I'm your Understander, and you're my Understander." The former Magic God closed the distance between herself, and her "jailer".

Songbirds could be heard, chirping, outside, somewhere, very likely perched in a nearby tree. Though earlier than expected, not all things were predictable, following a set pattern. They'd arrived ahead of schedule, because they followed no schedule at all. They were not bound to the human construct of time, or of pattern. They were free creatures.

"I know more about you than you do, Imagine Breaker; more than you ever have, or ever could. Riddle me this! The Heatwave comes, and the Heatwave goes; conflict soon passes with it. Days later, you vanish, for a period of three days, everyone who cares for you is searching, high and low, for you, and for you alone.

"You speak like nothing is wrong, once you've returned, hiding from us, hiding yourself away, "shouldering" all of this, like you said you wouldn't. Why? There must be reasoning, Imagine Breaker. This foolishness has to end, here. Can you not see how suspicious this all is, when it's laid out for you, put into perspective? You can't tell me that you can't see it, Imagine Breaker! You have been given more than enough time to have your pity party. Answer me: what happened to you?!"

"Othinus… I'm going to lose my patience, very, very soon. I don't want to do that. You're clearly aware I'm going through something. So, respect me, and drop the subject. Please. I'm… still me," Touma ordered. The vocalization was full of barely-restrained rage, obviously only just held in check.

Only, it wasn't rage. The vocalization had sounded like it floated on an ocean of rage, but, there was no rage present. Rage was an emotion, something 'human', something Kamijou Touma could no longer experience. Touma's all-knowing mind received yet another invisible, shapeless influx of what had to be, what was, data, that suggested the term "desperation".

He lightly, harmlessly shouldered past Othinus, who refused to cease following her "jailer".

"I won't leave yet, alright? We'll have to leave, at the usual time. School, and all that useless nonsense; but that's not for a few hours. I'll go. It's useless, but… it's normal."

Kamijou Touma, in an uncharacteristically forthright fashion, placed his left arm around the shoulders of the former Magic God, as the two walked out of his dorm's laundry room, together. Despite the limb's icy, merciless coldness, it was a source of comfort, for Othinus.

He motioned towards the dorm room's bed; Index still slept, peacefully, her eyes closed, her lips parted, tongue lolling, awkwardly, resting a few inches above the pillow. From the side of her mouth, saliva dripped, as the little, silver-haired nun repeatedly produced soft, vaguely hum-like sounds.

"You'll try, Imagine Breaker? You need to sleep. Close your eyes, and get some. Even if it's only a few hours. It'll do you a world of good. Don't be a fool, like the rest of humankind, as difficult as such a task might be, for you. You can cuddle close, and I will hold you… Understander."

"Yeah. I'll try. Consider it an apology… Othi-chan."

Kamijou Touma clambered into the bed, first. Strangeness. Data, which could've referred to the sensation of "softness" was processed by Touma's mind. It was soft, so very, very soft. The bed's mattress was so absolutely, positively, beautifully soft to the touch, hardly like the "toughness" of the dorm room's bathtub.

Othinus joined her "jailer", and the nun he "kept". Tugging at the sheets, pulling them upwards, and then, pulling the bed's comforter, up towards her chin, and the chin of her "jailer", the "prisoner" inhaled, deeply, held, for some moments, and then released the pent-up oxygen as carbon dioxide.

"You've actually taken me up on my offer, Imagine Breaker. What if I was jesting? You may have just crossed some mental barrier, put in place to protect you from something that can only heal, and never harm. You truly are dense, sometimes."

Touma could only shrug, indifferently, utterly unconcerned. Any embarrassment that could've, or, maybe, Touma didn't quite know for sure, should've been present, wasn't. It wasn't present at all, in any capacity.

"I did; but I don't really care. "Jesting" or not, you're not trying to throw me out, are you?"

An influx of data presented itself, internally, caressing the all-knowing mind of Kamijou Touma. The data suggested "a desire to find comfort" was present; no familiar feelings were present to suggest that such a thing was true. He'd follow what the data suggested.

Touma received more; another barrage of unbiased explanatory data. Index, the little, silver-haired nun to his right has grasped onto his right arm, holding on tightly. Both of the little nun's arms had wrapped around Touma's right arm. She continued to sleep; her brainwaves told all the tales Touma needed to make such a firm confirmation.

Index's body produced an involuntary shudder. "Cold," Index remarked, groggily, as if she wasn't truly in the waking world. She wasn't. Index's mind was dreaming, yet, even through the veil of slumber, the sensation of "cold" got through, piercing the wall, and injecting itself into her little nun mind, and into her little nun dreams.

The former Magic God cuddled closely to her "jailer", nuzzling him, with her body, either of her arms wrapping themselves around his icy cold waist. Touma's clothing did nothing to dull the sensation; the articles themselves were ice cold, like some metallic surface on a cold, winter's day.

"Sleep, Imagine Breaker," Othinus softly ordered. "Close your eyes, and go to sleep. Cease your staring. I see nothing on that ceiling that would indicate there is anything worthy of being ogled."

Kamijou Touma rolled, to his left; Index did not relent. Her slumbering form went with the flow, grasping onto his arm, still, her head resting against the crease between his upper, and lower arms.

"There isn't; but if I turn this way, there's something I can look at. You."

Where there should've been the sensation commonly referred to as "butterflies in the stomach", perhaps, there was none. As always, over the last month, an influx of explanatory data quickly came to Touma's rescue. "Possible romance", it silently, internally suggested. Maybe; more likely than not, little more than a means of encouraging an influx of data suggesting "carnal pleasure", more than likely.

If Touma had been confused about his sexuality, or, more accurately, as incoming data helpfully informed him, his status as a perpetually-virginal weirdo before this 'change', he was only more confused, in the present. Yet, he wasn't. Confusion wasn't a sensation Kamijou Touma could experience. Such strangeness was becoming commonplace.

Othinus, the former Magic God, a being of countless years, was staring into his visual identification modules – eyes, they were eyes, not "visual identification modules".

Why was Kamijou Touma still lying to himself?

Wide, and green, both of Othinus' eyes, false, and real, looked straight ahead, into Touma's own. The former Magic God's arms remained cast around his waist, one beneath him, the other over the adjacent hip. Blushing, slightly, the girl with the lone, functioning eye moved in, rubbing her nose against the cold, solid nose of her "jailer".

"I can't Understand you anymore. I want to, Imagine Breaker, but I can't. Let me Understand you again. I want to be your Understander, again, like I was before."

Kamijou Touma's cold, but strangely soft lips connected with those of Othinus, while the slumbering, mumbling Index still clung onto her "keeper". Touma's icy arms wrapped around the form of the former Magic God, as words became irrelevant. Her curvy, physically pleasing body brought a rushing influx of data that suggested "pleasurable" was what he should think, upon looking at his "prisoner's" form. "Possible romance" was, again, another suggestion, though, "romance" itself wasn't explicitly defined.

Both of the involved parties' eyelids closed.

"Othinus," Touma muttered, between the smacking of their lips. "There's a lot you don't, and can't understand about this. I'm not the same as I was, when we first met. Leave well enough alone, and let me take care of things. Maybe, then, I'll be able to tell you. You won't run, will you, Othinus, no matter how impossible, and terrifying the truth might be?"

The former Magic God pulled herself away, before she began to press her soft, pink lips against the icy neck of her "jailor", huffing, and panting, as she kissed, once, twice, and a third time, never stopping, hardly taking a second to even breath.

"No! I won't, you fool! I won't run! Tell me, Imagine Breaker! Dense, stubborn jester! Have you learned nothing?!"

Othinus' outburst wasn't entirely unexpected; it brought no surprise to Kamijou Touma, either way. Even if it hadn't been expected, no such reaction would've been possible. It did, however, succeed in waking the bed's other occupant, who'd been temporarily forgotten by the former Magic God, in the heat of her temper's sudden flair.

"Tou-ma."

Flopping onto his back, the accused turned his head to the right, in the little, silver-haired nun's direction. Index's big, azure-colored pupils were semi-visible, between the tiny cracks where her eyelids had parted, slightly. Index raised her hands to her face, and began rubbing crust, which had formed over her eyelashes, from her eyes, before she sat up, tugging the sheet, and the comforter of the bed close, wrapping part of it around her, like a cocoon. One of Othinus' legs was exposed.

"Tooouuu-ma. Did you sleep?"

"No," Touma admitted. "Not a wink. It's fine, though. I'm not tired. Just go back to sleep. It's early. I don't have to leave for a few hours. You don't have to let go, and freak out, you know."

Index was too preoccupied to get flustered; she'd caught the former Magic God in the act; the nun's eyes were trained, their vision capable of picking up on movement no human being would normally be capable of picking up, especially through their peripheral vision alone. Othinus placed a kiss to the neck of her "jailer", followed by another.

The little, silver-haired nun pouted, as she glared daggers at the girl with one functioning eye. "You're living in sin. Touma needs to wait until he's married, to engage in explicit behavior. You're not even in a relationship! Sin, sin, sin! I will cleanse you both!"

"Index, don't start," Touma warned. The little nun was taken aback by the domineering tone, in the voice of her "keeper". Since when had he suddenly started taking a front seat, in these things? Kamijou Touma had always been content with slinking away, existing as "the" beta male. At least he was coming around.

"Go to bed. You're going to be tired, if you don't get more sleep. You'll get bitchy, and nobody wants to put up with that. Especially not me."

"TOOOUUUUUUMMMMAAAAAAAAA! I do not get bitchy! You take that back, this instant!"

Index began to rant. Touma hoped even more that he'd just die, even if he knew such a thing was impossible, in the present. There was no reprieve, no door with a blinking "exit" sign that he could walk through. Even if a door was present, even if the key that needed to be applied to the proverbial lock came in the form of a concealable handgun, a noose, or a bottle of pills was presented, the key would do no good.

He turned his head, to the left, and looked into the remorseful left eye of Othinus, whose lips had curled into a frown. She shrugged, as if to say "sorry, Imagine Breaker."

A helpful influx of data suggested that Kamijou Touma show affection towards the little nun, who was obviously offended, and offer an apology, no matter how insincere said apology would be.

Touma rose, with the sheet, and comforter of the bed covering his form. He produced a soft sigh; Othinus found herself questioning what, exactly, had happened to her "jailer" even more.

Touma's icy lips pecked the perpetually-complaining, thrashing nun on her right cheek. Icy; freezing, even. They were, regardless of their temperature, soft. Index's ranting seemed to fade into obscurity, dwindling, and dying, her words chugging, like she was a piece of technology that was experiencing a glitch, or an instance of extreme latency.

Othinus rolled over, to her left, her eyes closing, as she nuzzled the pillow beneath her head. Kamijou Touma put an arm around the shoulders of the little nun, and pulled her close. The forthright nature of the affection startled, but didn't outright displease Index. It was forceful, foreign, and unfamiliar. The boy who'd always preferred to run away, blushing, from situations like these seemed to be embracing what he'd once seemed to have feared.

Index only knew a small portion of the truth. There was much more for the little nun with the silver hair to know; silently, Kamijou Touma hoped she'd know none of it.

"I'm sorry, Index. I shouldn't have said that. You're not bitchy. There are a lot of things happening, right now, that I can't explain. I literally can't explain them, and I can't explain why I can't explain them. Everything's being taken care of, though, that I can say; I can promise it.

"I'm going through a lot; but I shouldn't have allowed that to affect the way I talk to you. Come here, and cuddle up with me. I'll try to get some sleep, with you, and with Othinus."

Index's reply was short. "You must be cleansed of your sins, Touuummaaaa. There is no excuse for your lewd behavior. A man and a woman only sleep together when they're married!"

The little nun's lower jaw flopped open, extremely wide, to the point that it looked like it would snap off, and fall onto the bed. The visualization should've sent shivers down Kamijou Touma's spine. It didn't. Sharpened, gleaming fangs were visible, bathed beneath the dull orange rays of the early morning's sunlight. The little nun's perpetually-wiggling tongue thrashed back and forth, quite violently, as she prepared to dive in for the kill.

The little nun with the silver hair was stopped, mid-lunge. Coldness consumed her. Touma's icy, freezing cold arms wrapped around the nun's waist, halting her assault prematurely. She shook, slightly, as a blush erupted across her face, consuming her cheeks, and her nose.

"Index, enough. This isn't the time for your nonsense. Please, just control yourself. I've got enough to deal with. I don't need you acting like… that."

Kamijou Touma pulled the nun closer, than she'd ever been to him before, in such a manner, as he laid himself back down in the bed. An influx of data suggested his method was succeeding, due to the slowing of the nun's heartbeat.

Index was quite obviously stunned; Touma didn't need to read her brainwave activity to know that. Stunned or not, the voracious nun had been subdued, for a short time, at least.

"Go back to sleep, Index. I'll wake you up when Othinus and I have to leave for school, how's that sound?"

"You're different, now, Touma. I don't like it. What's wrong, Touma?"

"I know, Index. Nothing. Don't worry about it. I'll be fine. Go back to sleep."

Kamijou Touma felt either of the arms of the former Magic God, Othinus, curl around him, the palms of their hands running, softly, against the sides of his body. Othinus' form had pressed itself against his back. Incoming data informed him that Othinus was kissing the back of his neck. "Soft", "warm", and "sexy" were among the bank of terms that could've been used to describe the nature of the influx.

Touma's right hand rose, upwards, placing itself against the back of the silver-haired nun's head, the hand's cold fingers running through her hair, and along the surface of her scalp. Touma's left arm had remained wrapped around Index's waist.

After some time, Index, still blushing, as she tightly, and possessively clung to her "keeper", had fallen back into the warm, protective embrace provided by the faceless father figure dubbed "slumber" by humans. Her eyes had closed, and her breathing had slowed. Against Touma's cold upper torso, the side of her face rested, her lips squished, slightly, jutting forward due to the position her face found itself in.

Soon enough, clinging to him like a monkey, Othinus' kissing ceased, and she, too, like the little nun with the silver hair, had fallen into slumber. While Index produced soft humming sounds, as she slept, Othinus was silent, only the sound of her breathing being audible. Like Index's face, the side of Othinus' face was pressed against the form of her "jailor", though, unlike Index, who clung to Touma's front, Othinus clung to his back.

Touma didn't sleep; he had no need to. His body didn't require rest, it required no hydration, no nutrition. Instead of performing a meaningless action that would provide no benefit for him, Touma occupied his time by stroking the back of Index's head, and resting his face against the nun's forehead, even if such actions were inherently nonsensical, and meaningless in nature.

Until the sun's light fully invaded his dorm's living quarters, Kamijou Touma laid there, in the bed he no longer needed, with both of his "freeloaders" clinging to him, both of whom were lost in the endless maze of sleep.

The alarm, placed by the bed, dutifully enabled itself, and began broadcasting a radio transmission, almost certainly from the station Touma had last set the device to broadcast, once the device's set alarm was triggered.

The excited, loud-sounding, and somewhat nasally voice of a faceless announcer was audible, invading his auditory stimuli identifiers. The soundwaves emerged from the tinny external speaker on the top of the device. The announcer was obviously quite happy about something.

7:35 AM, supposedly, the time was. Had he actually managed to throw two or three hours away by simply staring to the left, his vision focused entirely on the wall behind the form of the little nun, who he still cuddled? Did time, as a construct, even matter to him, anymore? Would he ever run out of it, as others would?

The announcer's words had been caught mid-speech; Touma had no idea what the individual was speaking about, or the context behind his words. The announcer mentioned something about a contest, the prize of which was multiple tickets for an all-inclusive trip to London, England.

Silently offering his condolences, or, at least, what surges of incoming data told him were his condolences, to any hypothetical individual unlucky enough to win tickets to such a cursed place, Touma rose upwards, the physical pressure placed on his form by his clinging "freeloaders" rendered irrelevant. He was stronger than either of them, their bodies' respective weights not holding him down in the slightest.

Index, the little nun with the silver hair, was the first to awaken. Her eyelids were slowly opened. She blinked away more crust; light brown in coloration, the hard-packed stuff fell away, onto the bed's comforter. It had formed on her long, delicate eyelashes. Some remained, clinging tightly to the dark-colored hairs.

Index quickly detached herself from her "keeper", and scooted to the far right of the bed, pressing her back against the cold wall. Despite its coldness, the wall was still warmer than the form of Kamijou Touma. Both of her hands' fingers gripped the bed's comforter, tightly, her unpainted nails nearly tearing holes in the fabric.

"Touma! Did you sleep?" The little nun inquired, softly, her face still consumed by a blush. Though lighter, and pink in coloration, rather than crimson, it was a blush nonetheless.

"Yeah," Touma lied, without remorse. Incoming data informed him that such an act was "wrong", but, didn't define what "wrong" itself was. An irrelevant, meaningless word.

"Got a few hours. I feel rested, so don't worry, alright, Index? Just relax yourself. There's plenty of food in the fridge, so, you won't go hungry. Yen, too. Spend as much as you need to, if you're still hungry, but order something in. No going out on your own, unless you're with someone."

Touma rose further upwards, fully standing up, an action which succeeded in unintentionally rousing Othinus, whose arms slithered back, towards her. Touma stepped over the form of the former Magic God, and down, onto the wooden floor. Before he made for the dorm's kitchen, just behind the living quarters, Touma tilted his head to the side, and looked back at the silver-haired nun.

Forcefully, he added, "I mean it, Index. I find out you're wandering out on your own, and you're going to be in deep shit. You want to do something? Get in touch with one of your friends. No going out alone; it's not safe. Do we understand each other?"

Index nodded, somewhat reluctantly. Her lips curled, upwards, into a weak, but genuine smile. She bowed her head, closed her eyes. "Yes Touma."

A satisfying series of rituals, that could've been called a routine followed. Incoming data informed Kamijou Touma that Othinus' body would need nutrition, in order to properly function throughout the day. Normality, or, a small trace of it being injected into complete dysphoria. It was a nice influx of data, a dumping of exposition that brought comfort, no matter how minimal.

Othinus stretched her body, bouncing her legs up and down, as she forced her arms, outwards, and upwards. Touma had made his way to the dorm's kitchen, where, from the sounds that were being produced, both of the girls, laying, and sitting, respectively, in the dorm's bed could hear the sounds of the refrigerator's door opening, and then closing.

Zeeee. Nunununuuu.

The head of the former Magic God whipped to her right, her functioning left eye focused on what she could see of the dorm room's kitchen. Index's head, too, craned in the direction of the foreign noise.

Though there was a square-shaped hole in the wall, which offered the nun, and the former Magic God a glimpse into the dorm's kitchen, Touma wasn't visible. Evidently, he must've bent downwards, in order to fetch something from a lower drawer.

What either party, who sat, and laid upon the bed couldn't see, however, was the left arm, and right leg of Kamijou Touma had been reduced to mist-like streamers, dark grey in coloration, which had merged with the kitchen's sink, flowing, perpetually, into its stainless-steel surfaces like a waterfall into a body of water.

On the floor, Touma writhed, awkwardly, as he shook himself, attempting to restore the functionality of his 'changed' limbs.

From the dorm's kitchen, Touma called out, "Othinus? Breakfast. What're you feeling like?"

The former Magic God's reply was simple, but, spoke volumes, in regards to the number of foodstuffs that were present, in the kitchen of the Kamijou residence. "Toasted bread? Or non-toasted bread, with lunchmeat placed between two slices of non-toasted bread. What is the word used to describe such a creation, again?"

"A sandwich," Touma remarked. The vocalization was followed up by a soft, but genuine-sounding chuckle. Othinus' lips curled upwards, into a smile, upon hearing the sound. "Sandwich it is, I guess. Let me check what we've got on offer."

Zeeee. Nunununuuu.

The refrigerator door had opened, again, the same whistling sound that was produced when the door was parted from the unit itself rang out, in the relative silence of the small dorm. Following the whistling, shuffling noises were produced, followed by the sound of a drawer being opened.

"For meat, we have ham. Slices, not… not the "three-dimensional ham."

Nostalgia; that was what the influx of data suggested should be acknowledged, rather than properly experienced, by Kamijou Touma. Silently, invisibly, the incoming information both provided and dictated.

"The flesh of a pig will suffice," Othinus spoke, rising up from the bed, and swinging her legs over its edge. Stretching, once again, a small, pleasured groan fled the former Magic God's lips. Index, apparently not content with sitting by herself, followed in Othinus' footsteps, and left the bed's surface behind, bare feet slapping against the dorm's cold, wooden floors.

Both the former Magic God, of an age beyond numbers devised by humans, and the nun, only a teenager, had trekked into the dorm room's kitchen. The pathetic size of the room was only made even more evident when more than one individual had packed themselves within its walls.

The vision of Othinus' left eye drifted downwards, towards the right pocket of her "jailor's" pants; or, more accurately, the lack thereof. Where a pocket should've been, there was only a small, vaguely oval-shaped patch of perpetually flowing, current-like, dark grey-colored mist.

As if Kamijou Touma had somehow become aware that Othinus' vision had fallen upon the patch, he turned to the opposite side, hiding it; the left pocket of his pants was both present, and, seemingly, perfectly normal. His sock-clad feet still produced the same soft sounds as they always had, when Touma moved across the wooden floors of the dorm.

Index's attention span seemed to have given out, and, wordlessly, the little nun pitter-pattered off towards the dorm's laundry room. Opening the metallic door, and then closing it behind her, the nun was gone from sight.

The kitchen's counter, crafted of limestone, was light in coloration, a bright shade of silver, dotted with tiny black dots, which were apparently placed at random; they held no set pattern, in their placement. Directly next to the counter's small, but clean sink, was a small cutting board.

A few inches in thickness, and crafted from smooth-looking, dark-colored wood, with a long, vaguely oval-shaped handle, two slices of thick, whole grain bread were placed, side by side. On the board's surface. Upon the visible faces of both slices, mustard had been spread, quite generously, the knife used to spread the condiment cast off to the side, showing signs of its use, along with a label-less jar of mustard, whose yellow-colored cap had been removed, and set next to the jar.

"Enough mustard? Too much? Too little?"

"Stall," an incoming surge of data had suggested, followed by the command "distract".

"Imagine Breaker, your pocket. How, exactly, do you intend to go anywhere, when you've been… breaking, like this? Don't be foolish. You don't want myself, or the nun to know anything about what you've experienced, or what has happened to you, yet, you're willing to step into the outside world, in broad daylight, no less, and expose yourself to, potentially, thousands of people? Do you not realize how little sense your actions are making?

"Is it your education that concerns you, Imagine Breaker? I'm trying so hard to understand you, again. You are too much like a completely different person, from the boy I knew only a month ago. The spy's notes have, thus far, appeared to be congruent with what lessons are being taught by the small pink one."

Having reached back, downwards, towards the refrigerator, Touma had pried both doors open. From one of the translucent bottom drawers of the refrigerator, formed of a hard plastic material, a small, translucent bag containing individual slices of ham had been produced, its bottom left edge being gripped tightly between the index and middle finger of Touma's left hand. Touma had returned to his duty, gently placing slices onto the mustard-covered slice of bread to his left.

"Five slices?" Touma inquired, seemingly dodging the series of questions that'd been thrown his way. "Or, are you trying to slim down?"

"Five slices," Othinus confirmed, producing a sigh. At least Kamijou Touma still seemed to be capable of joking.

The former Magic God approached, from behind Touma, embracing him, and pulling his body close to hers. As she clung to him, Touma continued to dutifully work, laying each slice of meat on top of the other, ensuring as little 'excess' as possible hung over the sides of the lower slice of bread.

Gently laying the upper slice over the lower slice, Touma moved, to his right, trying to inch himself towards the kitchen's drawers. Othinus, seemingly, was trying to prevent such a movement from being executed.

A question was posed, by the former Magic God that embraced him. "How long will you hide, Imagine Breaker?"

"It's not hiding," Touma corrected. "You'll thank me, someday. You all will."

Exhaling, Othinus was exasperated. She broke away, pulling her arms back, from around Kamijou Touma. Standing up, on her toes, the former Magic God placed an affectionate kiss to the back of her "jailor's" neck. The words of the little nun, with the silver hair floated through her mind.

" _You're not even in a relationship!"_

Did they have to be? No. Othinus didn't think so, consciously. Human constructs were beyond the Understanders; at least one of them was an Understander, still. Maybe the other would return to being an Understander. Othinus would've appreciated that very much.

From the top drawer of the counter, beneath the sink, Touma had produced a silver butter knife. He aligned the cutting utensil up with his culinary creation. The tip of the knife had been placed, from the looks of it, in the exact, perfect center of the sandwich. Slicing, downwards, the butter knife's dull teeth bit into the first slice of bread, and then, into the meat within, before it cleaved, effortlessly, through the lower slice.

Tearing a large piece of paper towel from its roll, which stood next to the sink, on the kitchen's counter, Touma set his creation atop it, and, snaking either of his hands beneath, handed it off to the former Magic God, who took it in either of her hands. Their fingers connected, rubbing, gently against one another. Touma's were still as cold as ice.

"Viola," Touma remarked, sounding slightly more enthusiastic than he had, previously. "Compliments to the chef; eat up. Hope it tastes good."

"Will you allow me to Understand you, once again, when you're ready, Imagine Breaker? I know you well enough, you stubborn, bull-headed fool of a human. You're a fool, but you're not stupid."

Kamijou Touma's response was semi-truthful, at the very least. "Yeah. I'll explain it to you, someday. There're some things I'm going to have to work out, first, before… I'm already saying too much. Sorry, Othinus; trust me, please. I won't let you down, and I'm not doing this to hurt you, or Index, or anyone else. That's the last thing I'd want."

The former Magic God's shrug, and her thin, but genuine smile brought more information, flooding inwards through the most recent influx of data. "Remorse" was one such human experience that could've been attributed to the nature of the data. Another, something more positive, apparently, arrived in response to the smile, which the lips of the former Magic God had curled into.

"Beautiful" was one such term. "Beautiful" had an open definition, referring to a person, object, or state of mind that was pleasing in some way. That smile, her smile, the smile of Othinus, was an image that could've been used as a definition for the term, as well.

Emerging from the dorm's laundry room, Index looked from left to right, wearing a pout on her face. Once her eyes' vision landed upon the form of Touma, she approached him. "Tou-ma. Where are my clothes? Are you hiding them on me? That's not funny, Touma! Also, Sphynx got into the laundry hamper, again, and got his hair everywhere."

The head of the calico feline popped out, from within the little nun's shirt; where, exactly, the cat was perched upon was unknown, though, Touma assumed he was using the nun's small bosom as leverage. Sphynx's big, dark pupils, sitting in the center of his green-colored eyes looked in Kamijou Touma's direction, guiltily.

Then, the cat suddenly leapt out from within the nun's shirt. Pulling himself free, his little body landed, paws first on the wooden floor, his claws protruding, from his toes. Arching his back, Sphynx slowly inched his way backwards, as Index looked on, confused.

"Sphynx?"

The little nun approached, intent on scooping him up, into her arms. He was moving away from Touma, who his eyes were focused on. Their pupils widened, becoming larger, and rounder, as his tail's hair puffed outwards, greatly increasing its size. Sphynx's ears had folded back.

Without warning, the cat bolted away, towards the living quarters of the dorm. Rushing past Othinus, who'd seated herself on the floor, at the table, Sphynx leapt, upwards, diving into the bed's sheets, where he could no longer be seen, lost among the comforter's many vaguely round-shaped lumps.

"I don't know what's wrong with him," Index stated, softly. "I hope Sphynx isn't sick. Touma. If Sphynx is sick, we'll take him to the vet, right?"

"Right," Touma mumbled. He left the dorm's kitchen behind, emerging, and making his way back into the living quarters, where he joined Othinus. Sitting himself across from her, Index took Touma's place in the kitchen; the sounds of the refrigerator's door being pried open were audible, disturbing the silence that had descended, since Sphynx's odd outburst.

"Even the feline knows something is wrong," Othinus whispered. "These changes affect even the creature."

"He's fine," Touma remarked, just as quietly, in response. Othinus raised what remained of the right half of her sandwich to her lips, and bit into it. Smacking, loudly, Othinus spoke with her mouth full.

"I'm glad you'll be accompanying me, Imagine Breaker. The one you refer to as "Aogami Pierce" is unbearable. Surely, my desire to not have him as a romantic partner alone is good enough reason for him to relent, in his tireless pursuit."

"Don't be afraid to smack him around," Touma commented. "Fukiyose hits him all the time. The other one, too, the idiot spy. Straighten him out; you don't need me to fight your battles."

"I wasn't implying that I wished for you to confront the fool for me," Othinus spoke, calmly.

Repositioning herself, Othinus folded both of her legs inwards, and placed the top of her right foot over the sole of her left. Sitting upon her folded legs, the former Magic God tossed her long, golden-colored hair back, and produced a sigh.

"I was merely attempting to strike up a conversation, and voice my concerns. Your recent distance is uncomfortable, and, might I say, quite awkward."

Touma leaned forward, resting the left side of his face against his left hand's palm. Balancing his left arm's elbow against the surface of the table, he raised his eyebrows, as he looked deeply into both of Othinus' eyes, her glass right, and her natural, functioning left.

"Maybe I chose a poor subject for conversation. Do you recall the poll I mentioned passingly, previously? Or, have you forgotten? I wouldn't blame you, if you have. It was… weeks ago."

"I didn't forget," Touma said; the lack of enthusiasm is in his voice was practically dripping in his vocalization.

" _I feel like I'm speaking with a stranger. When will this cease, Imagine Breaker? When will you come back?"_

"You know what the result's going to be. Everyone's going to want to go to England. It's foreign, it's different, and it's not Academy City. It screams "popular". What were the other options? Canada? Who wants to go to fucking Canada? What's even in Canada? Just snow, and indigenous people."

"That is a mere stereotype," Othinus corrected, wagging her left hand's index finger at her "jailer". "I've seen pictures of the capital, Ottawa, on the World Wide Web. It is little different from most modern cities, in both architecture and population count."

More data was incoming; another influx, telling Touma what he should've been thinking, and feeling, regardless of the fact that he couldn't feel a thing. It was an irony not lost upon Kamijou Touma. "Familiarity", the influx silently suggested. Othinus' explanations brought familiarity.

"You've always liked explaining things," Touma said, with a chuckle. "I like listening to you explain things, Othinus. Talk to me; about anything. Just tell me about something."

Index emerged from the dorm's kitchen, passing through the entranceway, bare feet swiftly slapping against the floor. Her lips had curled into an excited grin. Clasped, in either of her hands, was a large sandwich. Rather than being made with two slices of bread, the sandwich's outer shell was made up of two halves, upper and lower, of a large, seed-covered bun. Between either bun, a large stack of many slices of ham, likely ten, but very likely more than just ten sat, plastered with both mustard, and mayonnaise.

With her prize in hand, the little nun set herself at the table, between Kamijou Touma, and Othinus. From the left pocket of her shirt, Index produced a paper towel, which she laid out on the table. Index then took her first bite from the front of the sandwich. Ravenously, Index tore a chunk of both buns, and the meat between them away, smacking loudly, as Othinus had been, before her.

"What would you like me to tell you about, Imagine Breaker?" Othinus inquired, once she'd managed to pry her left eye's vision away from the sight that was Index, who had devoured almost half of her sandwich, moaning in pleasure all the while.

Touma shrugged, still leaning forward. "Doesn't matter. Anything you want to tell me about. I just want to hear you talk about something."

"Well… a new website was discovered on the "dark side" of the World Wide Web," Othinus explained, "dedicated to cartoonish depictions of four-legged amphibians known as "frogs". Whether these cartoonish depictions are, in fact, toads, rather than frogs, is unknown. Most seem to believe the depictions are those of frogs. Some depictions seem to display traits of both."

"Frogs?" Index inquired, between savage bites. "Frogs are cute."

"Quite," Othinus agreed, with a sagely nod of her head. "That much we can agree upon."

No more words were spoken, between the three. Index was preoccupied with consuming her sandwich, until there was not even a single bite remaining to consume. Index was nowhere near done. Rising, from her seat on the floor, Index rushed back, towards the kitchen, where the sounds of the fridge being opened again rang out. Between Othinus and Kamijou Touma, an uncomfortable silence had descended, and remained, until the former Magic God finished the last remaining bites of her own sandwich.

"I'll freshen up, quickly," Othinus began, "and then, we should probably make headway for school, if you're intent on coming to class, this day. Many have missed you, Imagine Breaker. Our sensei especially has missed you. Is there something more, there? Color me curious."

"Probably," Touma admitted, to the former Magic God's surprise. "I'll be ready whenever you are. It'll be nice to see some people. Less nice to see others. You might have to get home by yourself, Othinus."

"One-Eyed" Othinus sat up, stretching her body, as she turned her back to her "jailer". Kamijou Touma watched the former Magic God's posterior sway, from side to side, as she made her way towards the laundry room.

"Nice," a silent influx of data suggested, as a possible outlook.


	2. School Days

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> While the previous chapter served the purpose of setting up some, but nowhere near all of the details involving the alternate universe in which the events of this piece take place, the current chapter will also serve a purpose, one just as, if not even more important than the purpose of the chapter previous. This chapter marks the beginning of the Spring-heeled Jack Arc. Would you like to find out more, my lovely readers? You'll have to do just that; read on.

Othinus had closed the metallic door to the laundry room behind her. The knob produced a soft 'click', as the former Magic God unhanded it, and allowed it to twist back into its original position, internally. Passing through the dorm's laundry room, Othinus entered the bathroom, and, like the door previous, she closed it. Unlike the previous door, however, Othinus then locked the bathroom door behind her. Between her left hand's index, and middle fingers, the small, triangular lock, placed on the center of the door's inner knob was turned to the right, producing a soft 'click'.

From the back of the bathroom's door, the former Magic God grasped at, and pulled a towel down towards her, from a rack, which had been affixed to the door's surface. The towel slithered, rather than falling, as if it was a living thing, rather than an inanimate object created solely for the purpose of bringing dryness to a select object.

For a moment, discomfort swirled around, in Othinus' lower body. She felt sick, as if she was about to suddenly vomit at any moment. There was none present, no bubbling bile within her throat; but Othinus certainly felt like it could rise, at any time, and take her by surprise. The former Magic God's forehead began to sweat, slightly, as an unfamiliar coolness swept over her. It was that time again.

She breathed, deeply, as she raised her right hand, wrapped in the towel, towards the right side of her face. As if a recorded message was being played back in her mind, Othinus could nearly hear the soft, almost musical voice of Heaven Canceler. She could hear it, and, yet, she couldn't hear it, like that frog-faced doctor was standing right behind her, not as physical existence, but as some sort of ethereal, incorporeal being.

" _To avoid damage, use a soft base, such as a hand towel, when you insert, or remove your prosthesis. It's very important that you keep it in the best possible condition. It is made only of glass, and will shatter if dropped, or handled improperly."_

Othinus' stomach churned yet again, as, from the limestone surface of the bathroom's counter, Othinus retrieved a small suction cup, with a soft, squeezable handle, to which it was attached. It couldn't have been any longer than one of her pinkie fingers. The former Magic God raised the tan-colored thing to her false right eye, and, as gently as her shaking hand could manage, she placed the surface of the suction cup against the prosthesis, which sat in her right eye socket.

It never got any easier; Othinus doubted that it ever would. Temporarily placing the towel she'd retrieved onto the counter's surface, Othinus lifted her right eyelid, upwards, as gently as she could possibly manage. Fiddling with the suction cup's handle, Othinus slowly, but surely, managed to remove the prosthesis; either of her right eyelids immediately closed, hiding the empty, fleshy socket from view, even if was only her own. Yet another chill ran down her spine. She'd removed her own eye, just like that. Plop. It was out; was it ever going to get any easier? The frog-faced doctor had seemed to think so. Othinus silently hoped that he was right.

Othinus wrapped the towel around the entirety of her right hand. As if it was a bandage, of some sort. Cupping the prosthesis in the palm of her right hand, which was protected by the towel, Othinus turned the bathroom's sink's "H" tap to the right. Beneath a stream of warm water, the former Magic God allowed her false, right eye to soak.

Some minutes passed; it could've been three, or it could've been eight. Othinus lost count, after her mind had suddenly started drifting, at one point. Turning the "H" tap to the left, and, therefore halting the stream of warm water, Othinus rubbed her left hand's index finger over the surface of the nearby bar of soap. Running the tip of her finger, gently, over the prosthesis, Othinus covered it, completely, in soap.

Othinus left the prosthesis to sit on the soft, protective surface of the towel, for a while, before she rinsed it, and then inserted it back into its socket, cringing all the while. With her right eye's upper eyelid raised, Othinus could see the disgusting-looking, pink-colored flesh beneath, in her reflection; it made her squirm. The former Magic God felt like she had thousands of tiny, writhing little insects just beneath her skin.

Othinus then moved her form, slowly, and cautiously, trying to become used to the uncontrollable vibrations her legs produced, towards the bathroom's bathtub, which, at one point not so long ago had served as Kamijou Touma's makeshift bed. Lowering herself downwards, and subsequently falling to her knees, Othinus didn't even bother trying to halt the smile that her lips were curling into.

As she reached across the white, porcelain tub, reaching towards the crimson-colored bottle of shampoo that sat in the rightmost corner, against the sterile, tiled walling that surrounded the bathtub, a scene played out in Othinus' mind's eye.

" _Index?! I didn't mean to! Come on! You know I didn't mean to!"_

" _Touma! Your excuses are weak! I always get changed at this time, in here! You must be cleansed of your sins, even if you don't consciously know of them! They're still present! You can't be given special treatment, Touma!"_

" _Index?! INDEX?! NOOOOOOO! Not my arm! OOOOWWWWW! SUCH! MISFORTUNE!"_

Squeezing the bottle, whose lid had been clicked open, a small, round-shaped spurt of orange-colored gel dripped, downwards, from the bottle's lid, and into the palm of her opened left hand. Othinus' smile's strength weakened, and, slowly, she began to feel it fading into a grin. Though she couldn't have been aware of it, the former Magic God was blushing.

She turned the silver-colored, rightmost tap, which was mounted a few inches above the bathtub's silver-colored, and partially-rusted spout. With her available right hand, Othinus turned the left, a few inches towards the counter. Hot water, and cooler water mixed together, forming the perfect lukewarm temperature. Othinus gently lowered her head towards the spout, and, allowing the water to run over her long, golden hair, her cheeks continued to glow bright pink.

Othinus remembered the events following that 'incident', one of many; though it'd happened weeks prior, the former Magic God felt as if it'd happened only the day prior.

" _Hiding from the nun, Imagine Breaker? If nothing else, you're a skilled survivalist. Have you considered signing up as a participant in that television program, "Survivapocalypse"?_

" _Heh. Thanks. Y-yeah, Othi-chan. I think she enjoys biting me. She's got to know that, by now, this is my misfortune's fault, not mine! Argh, whatever. It's not a big deal, right? It could always be a lot worse. What's new with you, Othi-chan?"_

Othinus ran either of her hands over her head, their fingers, and their thumbs passing, gently, over her scalp, massaging it, and ensuring that shampoo reached into every section. Occasionally, her nails would slide over individual strands of her hair, causing shivers to run up, and down her spine. Her shoulders would shake, and her lips would quiver.

" _Don't just brush it off like that. The nun treats you poorly."_

" _Othi-chan?"_

" _Hush, now. Shh. No more flapping those human gums of yours, Imagine Breaker. Get out of the tub, and come to me. Don't be afraid, now… this is hardly a new experience for either of us. I'll treat you properly. Kiss this body's lips, for a while, would you?"_

Othinus forcibly snapped herself out of the recollection of that wonderful night, with a shake of her head; clumps of orange-colored suds, as well as droplets of water flew outwards, due to the action performed by the former Magic God's neck. The images that'd formed in her mind were anything but wholesome, and, in the present, of all times, the former Magic God needed to have her wits about her.

Some time passed, and Othinus eventually managed to wash her hair, while avoiding the creation of a mess, which she then would've had to clean up. The former Magic God rose, bending her knees inwards, and stretching her arms, upwards, and outwards, producing a soft moan as she did so. Her naval was exposed, as her top was forcibly pulled upwards.

Firstly, she dried her sopping, dripping hair, by repeatedly assaulting it with the towel. She gently tugged its strands through either side of the towel's surfaces, large strands having the remnants of clumps of shampoo, and their overall wetness removed.

Othinus cleared away the wetness from her hair's fringe, and from its bangs, before she moved to the bathroom's mirror. Looking at herself, Othinus pointed either of her hands' index fingers outwards, away from her, and winked. The former Magic God produced a soft "click" sound with her tongue, before her arms fell back to her sides, and she produced a soft sigh.

" _I'm too old for this."_

The former Magic God stepped out of the bathroom, for some few moments. From a nearby laundry hamper, Othinus grasped onto four unique articles of clothing.

The first was a pair of simplistic, but lacy undergarments, consisting of a bra, and panties. Secondly, the upper, and lower halves of the uniform worn by female students of the educational facility Othinus, had, through a series of absurd circumstances come to attend, despite being aged beyond countable numbers. Thirdly, and finally, clasped in Othinus' closed right hand, a pair of knee-high socks, white, in coloration, matching her uniform's trim were present.

Forcing herself, quite impatiently back into the bathroom, closing, and then locking the door once again behind her, Othinus swiftly changed out of her pajamas, neatly folding the upper, and lower halves of the outfit, carefully, and then setting them upon the closed toilet seat.

For a few moments, the former Magic God, Othinus, looked down at her nude form. The thought of having Kamijou Touma, her "jailer", even in his present form touch the flesh and blood form she inhabited quickly passed her mind by, and left her with an odd, tingling sensation in her lower stomach, which quickly rose, climbing up her back, and rolling over either of her shoulders.

Changing into her uniform had warmed her up. Othinus, once again, looked down at herself. Dark blue, with white trimming, the uniform's upper half was baggy, and fell, loosely, from her figure. The uniform's lower half consisted of a knee-length skirt. With the likes of "BLAU" about, Othinus knew she needed all the protection she could get, from prying eyes.

Slipping a sock of her either of her feet, Othinus collected her folded sleepwear, and exited the dorm's bathroom, flicking the lightswitch off, and leaving the door partway open. The former Magic God placed her folded sleepwear into the nearest laundry hamper, and quickly grabbed onto the right strap of a small, green-colored purse, on her way out of the laundry room.

There, Othinus found Kamijou Touma, his legs folded beneath him, as he sat, patiently, before the table, opposite the little nun with the silver hair. Index sat, with her legs beneath her posterior, and her hands raised above the table's surface.

On the table's surface, numerous slices of pizza were set, wrapped rather haphazardly in a series of sheets of plastic wrap.

In either of the little nun's hands was half of a large, multi-layered submarine sandwich. Filled with meat, and shredded lettuce, Index appeared to be perpetually chewing off hunks of the sandwich. With each bite, mustard, and what looked like mayonnaise flowed freely, dripping down onto the table's surface, and pooling there.

"Ywour hwair smwells gwood; is thwat cwitrus?!" Index rambled, semi-incoherently; bits of bread, shredded lettuce, and small chunks of meat flew from the nun's mouth, as she spoke. Calling Touma's reaction subdued would've been an overstatement. He didn't even seem to care, as bits of ejected foodstuffs fell upon the table's surface. Some even struck him head-on, hitting him in the face. Still, Kamijou Touma didn't seem to be perturbed in the slightest.

Othinus, not having any better ideas, in the moment, set herself between Index and Kamijou Touma, whose left knee she placed her right hand's palm on. Softly, Othinus squeezed, as if to non-verbally say, "I'm here."

If anyone was eventually going to discover, and then subsequently understand what fate had befallen Kamijou Touma, Othinus knew that it was going to be her, and her alone. If Kamijou Touma would open up to anyone, eventually, Othinus knew that it was going to be her, and, more than likely, her alone. She'd spent enough time with the formerly pointed-haired fool to know him even better than he even knew himself.

"This scent is indeed that of the citrus-scented hair-cleansing solution," Othinus stated. Index proceeded to voraciously consume what remained of the submarine sandwich, like a starved dog that'd been thrown a chunk of salty, red meat. Rubbing her stomach contently, the little nun leaned back, and then laid herself out over the surface of the floor, her arms spreading outwards, as if she was about to start making snow angels with any snow.

"Index, you should probably get up. You'll get a stomach ache if you lay down after eating. Give it forty-five minutes, or so."

Index sprung up, nodding sagely. "You're right, Touma! I didn't even think of that."

The little nun leaned forward, pouting slightly, as she began to rest either of her elbows against the surface of the table. Touma cast his eyes' vision in her direction, and shifted his position, so that he faced her. Index's irises looked, deeply, into Kamijou Touma's own; and for a moment, she saw what Othinus had seen. Beneath the surfaces of his eyes, deep within them, there was something inherently wrong, and completely incorrect. Index didn't quite know how to internally rationalize such a feeling.

Except that was a lie, that Index attempted to brainwash herself into believing was true; she did know how to rationalize the feeling. She knew all too well how to do so. She wanted to feel as if it was something foreign, and unknown, something that she could never explain; but Index couldn't hide from herself, and what she knew to be all too true. Index felt fear, when she looked into the eyes of Kamijou Touma, the sort of fear a prey animal would feel when caught in the vision of a predator.

Index tried to force herself out of the fear that she wanted to believe, more than anything, to be utterly unfounded. "Tou-ma. What's wrong with you? You should tell me, or I'll make you tell me. I'm trained in the arts of compelling those who hold secrets to spill them, and the truth!" Index stated, almost proudly.

Touma simply reached across the table, and patted the little nun's left hand, with his own left. Index has awkwardly jumped, slightly, as his arm had reached across. His pats were gentle, and affectionate. For a few moments, his fingers locked around the nun's smaller hand, before he pulled his own away. "It's all going to be okay, Index. I'm going to be fine; I am fine. I've just got some things I need to do, private business, and, eventually, everything will be okay for sure. Don't even worry about me. I'm here, right? I'm right here in front of you! Obviously, nothing happened to me. It's me, Touma, Index."

The little nun looked to the former Magic God, who continued to sit quietly between her "jailer" and the nun he "kept". Othinus shrugged her shoulders. Clasping her hands, and allowing them to fall, gently into her lap, the being beyond countable years, outwardly resembling a young woman smiled, thinly, in the nun's direction.

"You'd do well to listen to him, nun. If he says he's fine, he's fine; the Imagine Breaker's always been one to shoulder many a burden by himself. If he chooses to do so, then, that's his right. We can only advise, and support. Attempting to do otherwise would be little better than standing before a wall, and furiously punching it, hoping to knock it over. Then again, there are those who can do just that, in this City of Science. Perhaps, that was a poor comparison."

Othinus wished that she could more easily practice what she preached. Internally, she just wanted to sit the fool of a human down, and kiss his stupid, perfect lips, until he was ready to tell her everything. She wanted to take him into the bathroom, while the nun was preoccupied, and Understand him again.

Even if they were cold, even if they had an odd, coppery taste about them, that didn't change the former Magic God's overwhelming desire to become physical with her Understander, who was drifting away from her too quickly for her own liking. She wanted to become close, again; Othinus was coming to understand that there were few better ways to become close than through physical interactions.

Touma cast his vision's gaze to the small, electronic alarm clock. "7:56 AM", it silently proclaimed. He rose, effortlessly, his legs exerting not even a single ounce of effort. His motions were fluid, and anything but mechanical; Othinus had seen what she'd seen, however. That arm, that semi-patched limb had been hideously robotic, like something out of the Eliminator series of films.

Othinus tried to picture Kamijou Touma standing tall, clad in a trench coat, a pair of grubby jeans and work boots, cold-faced, with a pair of tinted sunglasses obscuring his eyes. It didn't fit Othinus' mental image of Touma, and, she assumed that it would fit the actual Touma even less.

Touma temporarily vanished, entering the dorm's kitchen, and ducking beneath the hollowed-out, square-shaped vantage point in the wall, separating the kitchen from the living quarters.

There was that dreaded sound again. Zeeee. Nunununuuu.

A series of banging noises, which sounded to both Othinus and Index like pots and pans being crashed together had wrung out, over the odd, mechanical humming. Kamijou Touma, after some few moments emerged from the kitchen, his sock-clad feet suddenly clad in a pair of dark-colored trainers.

Unless he'd been hiding them in the dorm's kitchen, for whatever reason, Othinus knew she had reason to be concerned. Just what was Kamijou Touma? What was he even capable of?

"Ready whenever you are, "Olivia-chan". The sooner we get to class, the better. Last thing I need is Komoe-sensei getting all emotional. It's apparently the funniest thing in the world to everyone else, so, I guess that's a plus."

"Is it?" Othinus inquired. She rose, and, widening the distance between herself and the table, the former Magic God made her way to the door, which lead out of the dorm room, where Touma stood, with his arms folded across his chest.

Othinus slipped a simple, leather flat over either of her sock-clad feet, before she offered the little nun a wave. Index enthusiastically waved back, before she began to move towards the bed. Lunging into the sheets, Index exclaimed, "Sphynx! It's time to come out! Come on!"

"It is." Touma pried the door open, and held it, offering Othinus the chance to walk through the entranceway before he did. Silently, she accepted her "jailer's" offer, and stepped out.

Kamijou Touma wasn't far behind. The auto-lock system of his dorm's door produced a soft, electronic beep, once the door closed shut. Index would be secure.

If she wasn't, Kamijou Touma would tear Academy City apart himself. He had reason to believe he'd have all the time in the world to accomplish such a goal. He also had good reason to believe that there was little that could possibly stop him.

The hallway could only be described with a term such as narrow, or even, with a term such as claustrophobic. Choosing not to risk taking the elevator, the pair, "man" and former Magic God chose to take the stairwell, instead. Their walk towards it wasn't a particularly long one; while narrow, the hallway wasn't long. The hallway opposite them wasn't any larger, or any more impressive.

If the telltale thumps of an aggressive musical beat, generated from within the dorm situated directly next to Touma's own hadn't been polluting the hallway around Othinus and Touma, it would've been utterly silent. Othinus responded to the unwanted auditory stimuli by rolling her left eye, obviously unimpressed with the display.

The stairwell, accessed through a metallic, reinforced door, which, to Othinus' gratefulness, didn't cause her "jailer" to experience any physical "glitches", was darkened. While synthetic, golden light had bathed the hallway in its warm, positive glow, the stairwell beyond possessed no such lightning.

The former Magic God made her move. Othinus unzipped her bag's central pouch, and produced a small, palm-sized smartphone. Fiddling with it, for some moments, the former Magic God managed to unlock the device, and enable its 'torch' function.

From the back of the phone, flowing forth from a small indent in the device's backplate, which was positioned below the device's external camera, a wide ray of synthetic, bright light surged, illuminating at least a portion of the floor beneath their feet. Using this beam as a means of visually identifying what was around her, Othinus and Kamijou Touma began to descent the spiraling set of stairs.

Kamijou Touma had no trouble seeing in the darkness; he needed no external source of illumination. Without requiring any sort of command, once darkness had descended upon him, a simplistic HUD appeared, within the confines of his vision. Expanding outwards, and bordering his vision, the HUD brought with it the ability to see in sightless, darkened depths. Sources of heat, such as Othinus, were displayed in bright, pinkish red, while sources of coldness, such as the walls, the floor, the ceilings, as well as the stairwell's individual steps were displayed in bright blue.

Kamijou Touma's own form was colored bright blue, when he peered down at himself. Such was hardly a surprise, in the present.

For some minutes, the two quietly made their way downwards, traversing the darkened, narrow, stairwell. It spiralled, downwards, twisting and turning like the stairwell of some great manor-home. Occasionally, the two would step down onto a platform, which would lead to the next spiralling staircase.

At one point, Othinus had eventually wrapped her right arm around Touma's own left. He didn't object; he had no reason to. Touma had felt the former Magic God's form shutter, likely instinctually, upon touching his cold, outer form.

"Comfort," an influx of data suggested. Kamijou Touma went along, complacently, with what the soundless, sightless influx mentioned, taking its word on the matter. Touma gently pulled the being who was so desperately trying to again become his Understander closely towards him, as if to physically say "come closer", like he was giving her permission, even if she didn't need to ask.

Eventually, the darkness had passed, and the stairwell had been left behind. Stepping down from the final step, and back onto solid, tiled ground, Touma reached outwards, and grasped onto the metallic handle of the door, constructed of the same substance. With an effortless, nonchalant tug, Touma pulled the door open, and held it open for Othinus, who temporarily detached herself from him, as to accept his polite, and obviously thoughtful offer. She produced a thin, but warm and genuine smile.

The former Magic God felt a surge of positivity, and thankfulness travel throughout her; at least Kamijou Touma was still that polite person she remembered. Even if it was only a shred remaining of the person she loved so dearly, the one person who Understood her, a shred was a shred, and Othinus was going to treasure it.

Kamijou Touma stepped out from the stairwell after his "prisoner" did, allowing the door to shut, slowly behind him, producing a soft, electronic beep as its automatic lock system was engaged.

The lobby of the boy's dormitory, in which two females were dwelling within the room of a single male occupant, unbeknownst to most of the dormitory's population was a figurative breath of fresh air; only one among the duo could inhale the air, and only one needed to. Even for Kamijou Touma, the one who needed no such resources, the lobby's openness could be appreciated.

Evidently, Kamijou Touma and the former Magic God had made the correct decision; the closed, metallic doors, which lead into the elevator shaft were barred, taped off. Strands of crossed, orange, and black-colored caution tape had been wound from one side, and to the other, forming an intricate web of tangled tape. "OUT OF ORDER sorry for the inconvenience", a small, paper sign read. Taped between either door, and hanging, slightly lopsided, the sign had obviously been placed rather quickly.

Apparently, one of the duo's fellow occupants wasn't too pleased with this. Scribbled onto the closed, metallic doors, likely with a black marker of some type, given the coloration of the text, was a message of hate. It had been scribbled only a few inches away from the sign itself.

"FUCK U ASSHOLE". Kamijou Touma wasn't impressed with the display of immaturity; Othinus' offended-looking facial expression suggested that she wasn't all too pleased, either. She almost looked to be personally insulted.

Touma craned his neck in Othinus' direction, and raised an eyebrow. "Something the matter, Olivia-chan? Have to get myself back into the swing of this… don't want to accidentally end up calling you Othinus, or even Othi-chan, right."

Othinus nodded her head in agreement. Taking Kamijou Touma's cold left hand in her own right, she took the first steps in their walk. Touma didn't see a reason to disagree, or resist; no incoming data suggested that such a step needed to be taken, either; and so, he walked at her side, not behind her, but as an equal, not as a complacent weakling.

"Actually, yes. There's no need for such foul language. It's unbecoming of your… our species," Othinus stated. "Forgive me. It seems that I, too, am still adjusting to some changes of my own."

Kamijou Touma moved through the refreshingly spacious lobby, at Othinus' side; the two passed by several large soda-dispensing machines, which were placed along the wall. The former Magic God took a moment to offer Touma the same courtesy that he'd offered her; with her available arm, Othinus pushed the doorway open, and held it, allowing for Touma to pass beneath the entranceway.

Again, Touma didn't seem to experience any sort of "glitch", as he'd previously described it, despite both the entranceway, and the door itself being constructed of some thick, cold metallic substance. Othinus began to spare a second to contemplate the mechanics of these "glitches".

But she was quickly removed from her own internalizations. In fact, Othinus was barely aware of what was happening around her.

From her side, Kamijou Touma had suddenly broken into a sharp run, outwards, to her left; towards the road, where a young man had stepped out. The aloof young man in question had taken but a few steps away from the safety of the walkway. The second of two trainers had left the light brown, cobbled bricks that made up the walkway. He was obviously consumed by his own thoughts, and by the images displayed on the tempered glass touchscreen of his large, almost brick-like smartphone, which was cupped in the palms of his hands. The young man hadn't noticed the swiftly-approaching vehicle, a small, silver minivan, which was swiftly rushing towards him; but Kamijou Touma had.

Zeeee. Nunununuuu.

Othinus' left pupil shrank, as the eye's lids widened. Her right eyelids did the same. Kamijou Touma had leapt into the air; mid-leap, his form began to come apart. For a split second, the briefest of fleeting moments, the former Magic God had seen something that both horrified her, and brought up from her heart of hearts the deepest sympathy.

"Kamijou Touma's" physical form had changed. He'd become completely grey, in coloration, possessing a head whose face more resembled the limited facial features of a skull, rather than a face complete with skin, and with muscles beneath. Within such a short timespan, Othinus had been given no real means to create an accurate mental sketch. She'd seen grey, and a face that wasn't quite a face. That much, Othinus was sure of.

Splitting, in two halves, billions of nearly-microscopic nanorobots surged outwards, arcing, moving to collide with the rushing vehicle head-on, at speeds beyond Othinus' human comprehension. Like two individual, crashing rivers, Kamijou Touma literally flowed.

Zeeee. Nunununuuu.

He'd reformed, suddenly, both halves converging, to form a functional superorganism. A series of flowing, plasma-like arcs rushed across the grey, inhuman thing; the thing became Kamijou Touma once again, and, the arcs faded into nonexistence. With an effortless strike of his palm, Touma sent the young man flying, towards the safety of the walkway. His glasses, with their square frames had fallen from the young man's face, and onto the asphalt that made up the roadway. Click, click, click. Their impact with the asphalt rang out, though, its sounds were overshadowed by the loud, obnoxious honking of the minivan.

Before Othinus was even given the chance to rush towards her "jailer", or even to release a gasp of panic, the vehicle struck Kamijou Touma head-on.

In fact, that's exactly what Kamijou Touma had wanted. It would be a proper test of his abilities. If he could withstand the impact of a motorized vehicle, rushing directly at him at over sixty miles per hour, it would confirm more than one of his suspicions.

Touma had responded to the situation by effectively rendering the relevant issue a non-issue. He'd been sent flying, some twenty meters down the road. Like a Frisbee, Kamijou Touma had travelled, before he struck the asphalt, and rolled another ten meters. His arms, and his legs had twisted over one another, and continuously slapped against the asphalt until his rolling form came to a stop.

As if nothing at all had happened, Kamijou Touma rose. No blood leaked from his form, though there were craters present on his body's surfaces, as well as dents present on his outer form. A cluster of nanorobots responded to the issue by swiftly taking regenerative measures. Holes on the outer surface of his body closed, and dents were forced outwards; all the while, his form produced that dreadful, mechanical humming.

Whilst Touma walked, casually, towards the direction of Othinus, who was running, as quickly as she could manage towards her "jailer", a chunk of Touma's face, which had been missing, suddenly became present again. Nanorobots surged from the asphalt, and collected within the crater, filling it; plasma-like arcs of some type of energy rolled over the filled wound, turning grey, metallic "skin" into proper skin.

The individual behind the wheel, an overweight, unattractive looking fellow who must've been in his late sixties, or early seventies, had hobbled out from the vehicle. Upon his short, plump legs, the man waddled, his slacks stretching, and practically ripping apart at their seams as he did so. His sweater-vest was obviously too small for his great, protruding gut.

"Uho! Uho, uho! Gosh, gosh, GOSH! How're ya doin'? You're up? Good! How're ya feeling, boy? Everything tight down in there, everywhere? Augh! I do hope you're alright!"

Against the brick surface of a nearby structure, the aloof young man leaned; his upper chest sank, and expanded, as he panted. From his forehead, and down, along the bridge of his nose, sweat dripped. He'd apparently retrieved his glasses. He looked like a wreck. His school uniform, while physically unharmed, was plastered with sweat; its underarms were particularly drenched.

"I'm fine," Touma stated. Stepping up onto the walkway, Othinus, without thinking, threw herself against him. Despite the force, Kamijou Touma didn't even budge. Around his back, the former Magic God's own arms were wrapped. She felt a cold arm wrap around either of her shoulders. Silently, and internally, she questioned everything and anything she'd seen, in the few seconds that'd transpired, before her, in which she'd been little more than an onlooker. What, even, had happened?

"No harm done, but, next time, everyone involved might not be this lucky. For them, there won't be a next time, if you're not careful. Where would that leave you? You don't look like a killer, to me. Why the hurry?"

The overweight man, as quickly as he could manage, began to hobble back into his vehicle. "Late for work! No time! Sorry, boy! Glad you're alright!"

At the fellow's command, his minivan drove off; he'd forgotten to even pull his driver's side door shut. It hung loosely, opened wide, for a few moments, before he finally managed to shut it; even then, it hadn't been closed properly.

"I'm good, Olivia-chan. I didn't even feel it," Touma remarked. Othinus still hadn't let go. That had partially been a lie; though Touma, indeed, hadn't felt any pained sensations, a series of influxes of data had informed him that he had, indeed, been struck; "hurt", the data had suggested. Touma hadn't agreed, and, therefore, nothing was experienced.

Kamijou Touma felt himself begin to grin; "good", incoming data suggested. He agreed. This was very, very good. By denying pain, Touma rejected the data associated with it, and from it, he could disconnect himself. The rotting old men would be in awe, and he'd be able to bait them just a little while longer.

Touma looked towards the wall, where the aloof young man had been standing; no longer was he present. Where he'd been standing, previously, a vaguely back-shaped blot of wetness remained behind; the young man's back must've been sweating profusely. He must've taken off, somewhere. Touma could only guess, and Othinus couldn't have cared any less.

Reluctantly, the former Magic God parted from her "jailer". Taking his left hand into her own, Othinus produced a soft sigh, and motioned to the north; Touma understood. That was the direction in which the two would have to travel, to reach campus.

"Imagine Breaker, what was that? You… came apart, like a swarm of locusts. What has this place done to you?"

"Othinu- Olivia-chan… can you please keep your voice down?" Touma inquired. A command had wanted to emerge, but, he was in no position to command anyone. Othinus was her own person; she could do as she pleased, regardless of what he wanted. Touma knew he'd do well to remember that.

"Enough people are already gawking. We don't need any more attention. Neither of us, you know that. I'm not sure what it is, okay? I mean that. I'm not keeping that from you. I honestly don't know; your best guess is about as good as my own.

"I can make it happen by 'willing' it, but, I've only been able to do it twice before. I saw everything times a million. Not like a fly's compound eyes, but, I saw millions of the same street. Understand?"

Othinus couldn't have been any more confused. An unfamiliar sensation, an uncomfortable throbbing began to form in the front of her head. The former Magic God cringed. "Will you tell me more soon, Imagine Breaker? Sooner than later? I wish to Understand you, again."

Touma's answer surprised the former Magic God. Though grateful, Othinus wasn't sure as to what had changed.

"Yeah. Tomorrow, alright? I'm going to be busy, tonight. That idiot spy, Tsuchimikado will take care of you two. I'll tell you, and, I guess I'll tell Index, too. You've seen enough as it is; nothing much to keep from you, now. I guess it doesn't matter whether you involve yourself with me anymore or not, either. I'm not soft and vulnerable, like I was before. I can protect you, and your beautiful smile; and I can protect Index, and that smile of hers, now, better than I ever could before."

Othinus went quiet.

"Offer comfort," incoming data suggested.

"Othi-ch… Olivia-chan," Touma remarked, with a familiar, welcomed softness, "it's okay. I promise it's okay. Just hang in there; I'd tell you, right here, and right now, but… there're things I have to deal with, and people that I have to deal with. Loose lips, right."

Touma leaned inwards, and a thinly-smiling Othinus turned to face him.

"Olivia-chan, everything's going to be fine. Make today a good one, and let those worries just fall off your shoulders, and to the ground. Leave them there. Just leave them behind."

An influx of data, like always, as it seemed, had the answer Kamijou Touma needed. He hardly even had to rely on his own decision-making abilities. "Distract".

Touma stepped in front of Othinus, and leaned forwards, like he was beckoning her. His arms hung, downwards, limply. Touma tilted his head to one side, and produced a soft chuckle. "Climb on, Olivia-chan. There's something I want to try out, and, I'm not leaving you to walk alone. Trust me?"

"I do," Othinus stated, without hesitation. "But, first, answer a question? What is it, exactly, that you're planning on trying, Imagine Breaker?"

"You'll see."

Passersby couldn't help but observe, curiously; who was this foreign girl, and why was she clambering up onto the back of a young man? It certainly wasn't a sight witnessed on a daily basis; it wasn't even witnessed on a weekly, or monthly basis. This was entirely out of the ordinary, despite the action itself being rather mundane.

One observer was more interested than her fellow passersby, however. She knew this young man, from a time not so long ago. She could've sworn that his hair has been spikier, back then; in the present, it was flattened, and almost feathery.

If anything, it made him even more attractive. The spikiness presented him with a level of goofiness. With his hair flattened, the young man seemed more mature, and considerably tougher-looking.

The intrigued observer's presence in Academy City's seventh school district was something of an anomaly, in and of itself. She was, in fact, there on business. Her hair was dark red, like the color of blood, bound and styled into two long, thin twintails, which reached down to her buttocks.

Clad in the high school uniform of Kirigoka Girls' Academy, her blue-colored top was buttoned up, exposing only a few inches of cleavage. Her pleated skirt, of the same coloration, was accented by a pair of white, thigh high stockings. On her feet, she wore a pair of simple, dark-colored loafers.

Walking amongst the crowds of irate, and aloof students herding themselves towards their respective educational facilities, Musujime Awaki's eyelids narrowed, as she sized the boy up. Perhaps boy wasn't the proper word; man, was more like it. Even from thirty or forty meters away, Awaki could practically feel the intense, alpha male aura he exuded.

Then, he was gone. Musujime Awaki watched on, curiously, as the boy, who was more like a man, with the golden-haired young woman upon his back bolted in the direction opposite of her. His legs moved far quicker than the legs of any 'normal' human should've been able to. Beneath him, asphalt shattered, and broke, unable to cope with the apparently extreme pressure.

That certainly explained how he'd managed to do what he'd done, previously; he was obviously some sort of high-level esper. Without even needing to build up momentum, he'd become a blur, leaving only dust and a trail of broken asphalt in his wake. Passersby were even more riled up, at the sight of that feat. Smartphones were produced, photographs and videos were taken. Awaki couldn't even be bothered to engage in the socialite-like behavior.

For a moment, Musujime Awaki stopped. The crowds passed around her, and, over her, the great, towering structures of Academy City's seventh school district, tall, some milky-colored, some silver-colored, and others both milky and silver, in coloration cast down their shadows, which seemed to sway from side to side, as large, fluffy clouds would occasionally dull the golden, natural light of the sun.

With a shrug, Awaki walked back in the direction of the boys' dormitory, from where she'd emerged some ten minutes prior. Tsuchimikado Motoharu had more questions to answer. She hadn't walked for long, however; after a few simple, casual steps, she'd suddenly vanished, as she broke into a leaping sprint.

By the time Kamijou Touma skidded to a halt, it was all but too late. Othinus' proclamations, and her attempts at gaining the attention of her "jailer" had been for naught. Having been travelling at well over one hundred and fifty miles per hour, the whistling, screeching air around the duo had been more than enough to obscure her vocalizations.

With his attention focused on the roadways in front of, and to either of his sides, Kamijou Touma had been unable to read the former Magic God's lips.

"I-Imagine… B-Breaker. Imagine Breaker. You… you _are_ aware that you've torn up miles of roadway, correct? You're also aware that you were likely captured on camera, correct? Finally, you're aware that you must be one of the most foolish humans on the face of this world, correct?"

Kamijou Touma craned his neck to the side; he looked onwards, examining the long, winding trail of shattered asphalt, torn chunks of concrete that'd been ripped from the roadway, and the long, broken metallic beams which had been physically lifted from beneath the roadway itself.

All around the duo, passersby were recording videos, or snapping pictures with their smartphones; not of the duo, but, rather, of the destruction Touma had inadvertently created.

Kamijou Touma took a moment to produce his own smartphone; unlocking the device, he proceeded to observe the time displayed on the device's tempered glass touchscreen. "8:10 AM", the digits, and the two alphabetical characters that followed read.

"We got here early, by about twenty minutes. City's got plenty of money to throw around. Might as well be on fixing the roadways. That's productive, at least, and doesn't involve stabbing little girls with syringes."

"Excuse me?" Othinus inquired, climbing down from her "jailer's" back.

"Long story, Olivia-chan. Explain it to you a little better tomorrow," Touma remarked, reassuringly. He placed his right hand upon Othinus' corresponding shoulder, and squeezed, tightly, and comfortingly. "There's a lot of dark shit that goes on in this place; we both know that. You always have; it just becomes a lot more personal when you see it so often."

Apparently, "tomorrow" held a lot of things. Othinus shrugged her shoulders, as she took the left hand of her "jailer" into her own right.

"Maybe we should find one of those cherry blossom trees," Touma spoke, producing a chuckle. The attempt at lightening the mood wasn't lost upon Othinus, whose lips couldn't help but curl, upwards, into a thin, but warm smile.

Past the grassy knolls, and along the cobbled, brick pathway the two walked. From between some individual bricks, grass sprouted, reaching up towards the sky. Though trees dotted the knolls on either side of the path, they weren't, in fact, cherry blossom trees; instead, they were old oaks.

Walking, silently, along the cobbled path, Kamijou Touma, and the former Magic God closed the distance between themselves, and the metallic staircase, which lead up to the large, milky-colored, reinforced front doors of the middle-high school, which, in the wake of their own high school's complete and utter annihilation, had become something of a home away from home.

Othinus, as "Olivia", quickly, but reluctantly released her "relative's" hand. Almost immediately, the former Magic God, subconsciously taking on the role of "Kamijou Touma's relative hailing from Denmark" wanted her "relative's" hand back in her own. Even if it was cold to the touch, freezing, even, it brought her comfort unrivalled.

Neither party was aware of the inconspicuous, dark-haired girl who was sitting upon a wooden bench, situated beneath one of the great old oaks. With her right leg crossed over her left, she'd casually produced her phone, once her eyes had fallen on Kamijou Touma, and Olivia, the foreign girl. The text massage she was typing up, as her fingers clicked against her smartphone's tempered glass touchscreen, however, was far less casual in nature. It was an alert, a message of utmost importance.

" _Senpai? Hes here. He's alright! You don't want to miss your chance this time."_


	3. The Unexpected

February 7th, 2004. 11:19 PM.

London, England was one of the safer places where one's feet could tread, though that didn't mean there weren't threats to consider. Unlike in other lands, those that posed a threat to the citizens of this legendary place hid amongst the shadows, and preyed upon the vulnerable.

Neither of them knew it, but they were being silently stalked by not one, but two parties. One was out for everything they owned, the only thought on his mind being his next fix, the other was curious as to the nature and desires of the exceedingly young couple's apparently unknown stalker. He followed his own agenda, when he wasn't following the agenda of his employers.

Ellie Applegate and Viktor Naoumov walked quietly together, arm in and arm. A couple of eleven months, five weeks, and three days – Viktor had long kept count – their presence in the wooded overgrowth eleven miles away from either of their respective, disapproving families, and the homes they dwelt in was hardly a surprising one. The war was long since over, and the boy had never had a part in its atrocities. Ellie knew that; and that's all that mattered to either of them.

The woods were mostly quiet, the only noises present being the earthen waste crunching beneath their boots and trainers, respectively, and the sounds produced by chirping songbirds who were awake long past their collective bedtimes.

"You think you do well on test? I did well, certainly. You did better though. Smarter," Viktor remarked, softly, his Russian accent thick, his grasp of English tenuous at best. Even if her boyfriend's grasp on the language could've been better, it hardly mattered to Ellie. It was what laid within that counted; that great, warm heart of his.

"That's not true. You're smarter than I am by a longshot. I never would've understood that mutagen stuff. I think I did alright; I hope, at least…"

The two stopped. Off the beaten, partially-cobbled path laid a wooden bench, large enough to seat three or four average-sized individuals. Viktor performed a quick check over the bench's seat, his mitten-clad hands brushing away dried, crumpled leaves and smeared mounds of mud.

Having found an untarnished area of the bench that was unmuddied, Viktor sat his light-colored jeans against the mud, and patted the untarnished area with his right hand's fingers. "Sit, yes? Bench is clean, so tights won't become dirtied. I wash own pants, no worrying."

"V-Viktor… you shouldn't have. We could've just found another bench, you know. You're too sweet."

From beneath a dark-colored winter hat, long, blonde bangs emerged, as did a few inches of her hair's blonde fringe, swept to the left. Clad in a sand-colored parka, a pair of dark-colored tights, and knee-length leathers boots that matched the color of her parka, Ellie sat herself comfortably in the untarnished area of the bench, snuggling close to her boyfriend, whose arm was instantly wrapped around her shoulders. A light-colored, hoodless jacket adorned his torso. For legwear, his light-colored, muddied jeans served him loyally. On his feet, Viktor wore a pair of stylish high-top trainers, white in coloration; the worst possible color to wear when hiking in a series of unmaintained trails, in retrospect.

Another individual moved to join them. Out from the overgrowth, bursting from the twisted, broken branches, and tangled brambles he leapt, like some unthinkable, mythical thing, like something out of a fever dream.

Like two glowing headlights on an empty highway, two orbs, glowing red were the first objects to be noticed by the young couple. Some twenty-five feet into the air he'd jumped, before his feet connected with the cobbled trail, his knees bending inwards, unnaturally.

Regardless of this fact, he regained his posture, and held himself with confidence. Like some nobleman, he waltzed elegantly towards the young couple.

The stranger was clad in a simplistic outfit; a tracksuit. It was olive-colored, with baby blue streaks running down either outer leg of suit's pants, and along either of its inner arms. The top piece of the tracksuit had its collar popped, its zipper pulled some ways downward, exposing a simplistic white top beneath the track suit's long-sleeved top.

Around his neck, a cloak was tied; it was olive-colored, like the tracksuit. In the moonlight, it could clearly be seen by the young couple that the cloak had been hastily stitched together. On his head, the stranger wore a strange, milky-colored mask, with a gill-like protrusion on either side, where his ears were, presumably, beneath the mask. The facial expression of the mask was one of surprise, or, perhaps, confused bewilderment, and two strategically-cut holes revealed two glowing, ember-like orbs where eyes should've been.

The light provided by the moon illuminated what was visible of his skin. His neck's skin was pale, almost bluish in coloration. On either of his hands, he wore a glove, whose four fingers and thumb each ended in long talon-like claws. The cuffs of his tracksuit's pants were tucked into a pair of fashionable, calf-high boots.

"Well? What're ye gawkin' at, lad? Lass? Scoot over, would ye? Let a man take a seat on this fine evenin'! Me arse is killin' me!"

The young couple did as they were told, confused and utterly terrified. The stranger joined them, seating himself upon the bench. He laid his right leg across the knee of his left, and repeatedly bounced his foot up and down, as he placed his right hand, closed into a fist beneath his chin.

"Ye want ta see a magic trick, lad? Lass? I've got all sorts a' tricks up me sleeves. Jus' wait fer it; our esteemed guest 'ill be arrivin' soon enough. So, how's th' sex? Hope yer usin' protection, an' all that good stuff. Too young ta start plowin' fields an' raisin' brats, I say. Yahve gots ta live a littl', 'fore ye jump into that sorta life!"

Some fifty feet down the partly-cobbled pathway, another individual had stopped in his tracks. Though the young couple couldn't discern his features, the fiery-eyed stranger could easily do so. A dark, hooded sweater, dark sweatpants, and dark-colored boots, ankle-high.

Dark, dark, dark; the boy struck the fiery-eyed stranger as someone who was a bit too edgy for their own good. The boy probably yelled at his mother whenever she requested that he clean his room. In the stranger's mind, said mother was presumably a minivan-driving, drug-abusing "independent, single woman" who was just a bit too fond of football practice.

Either this was the case, or this individual was a vampire.

It'd been quite a long time since the stranger had messed with a vampire; a part of the stranger hoped the stalker was, indeed, some feral, blood-sucking creature of the night.

The fiery-eyed stranger began to speak once more; his voice boomed, rolling like thunder. It was unnaturally loud, reverberating throughout the woods and scaring the birds and the grounded beasts from their abodes.

"Well? What're ye bloomin' waitin' for? Come an' join th' party, lad! Papa Jack's got plenty o' stories ta tell, like this one time, when I arm-wrestled the ol' Loch Ness Monster! Nessie's a right sore loser, she is!

"Or, Papa Jack could tell ye about the time 'e wrestled a vampire! Put up a mighty good fight, the bloodsucker did, but in the end, ol' Papa Jack won out. Don't believe me, lad? I've got the bastard's head in me quarters! Bugger still talks, too!

"…or ar' ya scared? What's th' matter, lad? Come an' sit on Papa Jack's lap, and ye can tell 'im all about it! I'll sign the divorce papers for ye mum, as well! Come on now, lad! Don't leave a man 'angin'!"

The fiery-eyed stranger rose from the bench. Like an overexcited child he leapt up, and violently threw his head back; both Ellie and Viktor heard his spine violently crack.

Regardless, he didn't seem to be perturbed by this fact. The stranger's jaw flopped open, and from his mouth he vomited forth a stream of bluish-white flame, which rose high above the top of the wooded area's trees, but didn't scorch them, or cause them to catch fire.

The dark-clothed individual turned his back, and began to flee. Slowly, but surely he began to gain momentum; a jog became a sprint, and a sprint soon became a stumbling run.

"'hat nutter 'ad a bloomin' shank, 'e did. Was probably finna stab ye both up, an' leave ye lookin' like swiss cheese! Followed ya for at least a good… a good while! I mean, I was followin' ye, too, but… I was jus' curious, T'was all. Papa Jack's lookin' out for ye!" The fiery-eyed stranger explained, enthusiastically.

Falling back into a casual position, his jaw seemed to fit itself back into place. The fiery-eyed stranger offered a clawed appendage to Ellie, who could only look on, completely bewildered. Her boyfriend, Viktor, wasn't any more willing to provoke this strange individual.

"Name's Jack. Spring-heeled, they call me. By "they", I mean the bloody newspaper nerds. Noice ta meetcha, lass; and you too, lad. Fine night fer a stroll around a secluded woodland abode. Y'know, this is how all those 'orror movies start out. Nice 'ittle lass wanderin' around by 'erself, usually naked, for whatever reason; then mister 'ockey mask pops out from behind a tree! Nasty stuff. Always find meself feelin' bad for the lasses who die in those movies."

Ellie reluctantly shook the appendage, as politely as she possibly could, and Viktor did the same. The fiery-eyed stranger's gloves were soft, made of some type of rubber; Viktor's sweat-covered hand nearly slipped from it.

"Wha's the matter? Cat got yer tongue, lass? Lad? Just don't know what to rightfully say ta ol' Papa Jack?"

Viktor spoke up. Clearing his throat, he folded his arms across his chest, and produced an awkward attempt at starting a conversation. He stuttered for some moments before his lips finally began to produce words. "Thank for protecting us, if that you did. If other man have weapon, and try to sneak, that be… wussy thing to do."

"Spoken like a true champion o' the people, lad," Spring-heeled Jack remarked, apparently pleased by the response. "Papa Jack's gots ta get goin', now. He's already later than 'e should be fer a very important date! Good-bye! So long! Good evenin'! If ye 'appen ta run inta any vampires, jus' yell out "Papa Jack, save me virgin bootyhole!" and, I'll come a-runnin'. No bloodsucker 'as ever bested ol' Jack!"

The individual identifying himself as Spring-heeled Jack turned away, and, in a single bound leapt high above the trees of the wooded area. Gravity eventually managed to pull him down, but not even its laws could completely stop him; Jack began bouncing against treetops, using them to temporarily return to the skies.

Spring-heeled Jack continued on his way until he was gone from sight, leaving only a confused young couple and a fleeing, terrified junkie in his wake.

* * *

Musujime Awaki hadn't ever been one to play around, or to beat around the bush. If the proverbial bush had been a literal one, Awaki would've simply walked right through it, consequences be damned. Proverbially, she did precisely that.

In the end, she found herself regretting her decision. The dorm room of Tsuchimikado Motoharu was as unkempt as it always was, when that sister of his wasn't around to see to taking care of it. This was hardly what caused Awaki's eyelids to widen, nor was it what caused her to place the palm of her left hand over either of her eyes, and shudder in horror.

Seated upon his couch, Tsuchimikado Motoharu's pants hung around his ankles, the belt that would've held them in place tossed away. Much to Awaki's thankfulness, Motoharu's shirt covered his member, and the hand that she presumed was wrapped around its shaft.

"Uh, uh, uh shotacon-chan. Shoes off. You're going to dirty my place up."

"Forget it, newspaper boy. I wouldn't give you the pleasure."

Tsuchimikado Motoharu raised an eyebrow, and offered his compatriot a crooked grin. "Do I look like Kami-yan to you? I'm not _that_ fucked up."

"Well, this is awkward," Motoharu casually remarked. He motioned to the nearly emptied box of tissues that were placed next to him. "Care to join me? I could use… A HELPING HAND! Get it?"

"No." The answer was swift and sure. With a nonchalant shrug, Motoharu began pulling his pants up. Ensuring that his shirt remained untucked, he moved towards his discarded belt. The crotch of his dark-colored pants protruded, a great, curved bulge making itself known. "You disappoint me. Am I too old for you, Musujime-chan? If I put on a diaper and stuck a pacifier in my mouth, would you give me a pity handjob, then? I'd even call you mommy! Or, I could call you nee-san!"

As he inserted his belt into the loops of his uniform's pants, Motoharu looked to the unimpressed Awaki, who still had her eyes covered. "Is there something I can help you with, Musujime-chan? Or are you auditioning for Academy City's Top Tsundere? You can look now, by the way; I'm being honest here, it's tucked in now, all eighteen inches of it."

"Tsun… what?" Awaki shook her head, irritably. Moving her hand away from her eyes, Musujime Awaki was relieved to see that Tsuchimikado Motoharu had been telling the truth. Aside from his bulging crotch, he looked presentable, at least. His hands were stuffed into either of his pockets.

"Tell me something. That boy, what's his name? Kami… something. What can he do? What ability does he possess?"

"GAH! KAMI DISEASE STRIKES AGAIN! EVEN YOU, MUSUJIME-CHAN?! ARE NO GIRLS SAFE?! YOU'RE A FUCKING SHOTACON! WHAT INTEREST COULD YOU POSSIBLY HAVE IN HIM?! WHY?! WHAT?! HOW?! I TRULY DO UNDERSTAND AOGAMI'S PAIN!"

Motoharu's uncharacteristic outburst had been entirely unexpected. Awaki raised an eyebrow. Folding her arms across her chest, beneath her bosom, she tilted her head to one side and produced a frustrated sigh. For the moment, she'd let the "shotacon" comment fall to the wayside. There was a time and place for everything, even disciplining the idiotic Tsuchimikado Motoharu. "Is that his name? Kami? He and I, we have some his-"

"I know all about that," Tsuchimikado Motoharu spoke. "It's my job to know these things. I know Kami-yan played the hero like always and called an ambulance for you after he pimp slapped you, but he's not the same anymore. Not reliable when certain "duties" come a-calling, either. We had something of a system, but he's not part of that anymore. No… Kami-yan's a bit of a liability; uncontrollable, unpredictable, not quite insane, but different, and not the good kind of different; the bad kind, he's a fucking problem."

Move Point resisted the instinctual urge to sit herself down upon the couch; who even knew what depraved acts had been committed there? Instead, she teleported towards herself the nearby coffee table, and sat herself upon its surface. Awaki presumed that piece of furniture was untarnished.

"Tell me more. I've been out of the loop for too long."

"What ever could you want to meet with Kami-yan for, though, Musujime-chan? Could you, perhaps, need his help for something? You won't get it, not from him. He's a maverick," Tsuchimikado Motoharu stated, as if that alone would answer Awaki's questions. "In the last month, he's killed at least eighteen people; deserving, yeah, the scum of the earth, you've got your muggers, your rapists, your gang-affiliated rubbish, your prostitute-pushers, nothing of value being lost… but it's the principal of the thing.

"Not sure about his ability – he didn't have one before. Can't dig up a shred of information about what happened when he was off the grid. He can… split, or something. Disassemble himself. Weird shit, not anything I've ever seen before.

"Kami-yan isn't Kami-yan. He'd be less likely to call an ambulance for you, and more likely to call it an evening and put you out of your misery. Kami-yan was a very useful person. This, whoever this is, they aren't useful to anyone. They're a fuckin' pain in my ass."

"He didn't have an ability? Nothing? Then, how did he…? Forget it, it's hardly important now. Something happened to change him, then?" Awaki postulated. "Of all people, you should be the one to know."

"You're right about that, Musujime-chan; but not even my lucrative providers have a shred of information on what's been going on with him. Besides, Kami-yan was hardly your type in the first place, Musujime-chan; isn't he a little bit too old for you?" Motoharu's lips curled into a predatory, toothy and shit-eating grin. Awaki could tell that she was being tested.

Awaki didn't flare up, nor did a blush adorn her cheeks. Crossing her right leg over her left, she shook her head in disapproval. "Sheesh. That's not what this is about, you deluded pervert. Color me curious; I never did get to see much of him, after all. After all that nonsense with the half-assed teleporter, you know well enough that the heat was cranked up pretty bad. I'd like to follow up on our previous meeting, especially after what I saw. You've seen it, his ability?"

"Yup; I've seen it, alright. Whatever makes you feel better, Musujime-chan. Are you going to bring him on one of your "purges?" Motoharu spoke. "That might be a good way to bond." That shit-eating grin never left his face. In fact, it only perpetually grew wider. "You've fallen victim to Kami Disease, and you don't even know it."

Awaki's eyelids widened, slightly. "How do you know…?"

"It's my job."

Motoharu cleared his throat, and began to rub his chin between his right hand's thumb, and its index finger. "You know what? What am I even babbling about? This could be fun to watch; would you like me to give you a buzz when he returns to his home sweet home? Or perhaps you'd like to pay him a visit when his harem member-gathering field day ends?"

Musujime Awaki wasn't interested in any of that nonsense, nor was she going to give that perverted idiot even a single ounce of satisfaction.

"When does his school get out? Three?"

"Ooohhh, she's going for it. Kami-yan disease has officially taken hold… hop on while it's warm and creamy, Musujime-chan! You've already got competition! Three it is! Get there at two fifty-nine, just to be safe! In a school, full of cute girls with tight skirts and tighter panties, you're going to have to set yourself apart! Wear your skirt shorter than usual… Kami-yan likes legs, too; he's one sick puppy."

She had no reason to attempt to defend herself, regardless; hooking up with the boy who'd called an ambulance for her back then wasn't Awaki's intention. At least, that was what she told herself. Maybe something would come of it, maybe something wouldn't; above all things, she was curious. Musujime Awaki didn't know anything about this "Kami Disease", but, such was obviously a figment of the deluded pervert's imagination.

As Motoharu continued to tease her about her apparent desire to engage in coitus with that boy, "Kami-yan", as the perverted idiot called him, Awaki's own lips curled into a sinister grin.

"As thanks for your incessant immaturity, I won't be delivering my findings regarding "Kami-yan's" ability to you. You'll have to find out for yourself, oh ded-i-cated newspaper boy."

With a wink and a nod, Musujime Awaki vanished from sight; one second, she was there, the cheeks of her buttocks pressed against the surface of the dorm's coffee table. The next, she was gone, as if she'd never been there at all. Tsuchimikado Motoharu clicked his tongue, his grin fading for only a moment, before it swiftly returned.

" _Newspaper boy? That's what you think I am, shotacon-chan? Cute… very cute. It's oh so good to be working with GROUP again."_

* * *

Of course Kamijou Touma's first steps into the halls of his place of education couldn't have lead to anything even remotely "average" happening to him. It was hardly a surprise to him, and it was far from a surprise to "Olivia, Kamijou Touma's distant relative hailing from Denmark".

For Touma, however, he could hardly utter his famed catchphrase. The sight before him was quite an appealing one; he didn't need an influx of data to tell him that. He just knew it, though Touma didn't quite know how he knew it; perhaps his experience, or his inner knowledge had been carried over from when he he'd been something less?

Among the chattering students who'd organized themselves into tightly-knit, but surprisingly accepting social circles throughout the long hallway just beyond the middle-high school's entranceway was one older student who walked quite swiftly towards Kamijou Touma and "Olivia" with wide, hopeful eyes, and a warm, welcoming smile.

Touma knew this girl – no, she wasn't a mere girl. She was a woman; she was older, so much more mature than others, than most of those of the opposite gender who admired him, and so stunning, so beautiful.

Long, dark hair flowed from the crown of her head and down her back, its bangs long and elegant, its fringe tied back, held in place by a red headband. Her skin was milky, looking like it would be smooth to the touch, her strides confident and held with a sense of pride few could match. Her bosom was exceedingly ample, a feature noted by Kamijou Touma. Her uniform clung to her body perfectly; with her naval visible in the gap between her top and her knee-length skirt, the uniform highlighted her curvy, divine form. If Kamijou Touma had a "dream girl", said figment of his imagination would look eerily like the woman who walked towards him.

When he'd been less, Kamijou Touma's interactions with this woman would've been timid in nature; but Kamijou Touma was far from less, he was more than he'd ever been before, more than any human, far beyond any mortal.

There was no longer a reason, no sense in holding himself back. In his proverbial heart, he held no shame for what profane acts frequent bursts of data informed him that he wanted to perform upon the body of this woman. If anything, he deserved it. Touma was enjoying the clarity that being more than human brought to him. The foggy veil's lifting brought him much euphoria.

Yet, one question stood out in his mind; could he perform said profane acts? A helpful burst of data informed him that he could, if only he was to will it.

"Desire to engage in non-reproductive coitus", comfort", "pleasure" and "luxury" were among the feelings this woman supposedly brought out in Touma, according to bursts of incoming, apparently omniscient data. He wasn't aware he could even feel these sorts of emotions, yet there they were, being explained to him in all their complexity, as if within him was a great, all-knowing encyclopedia whose pages were beyond number.

He'd been through enough; he'd been through Hell, and he remained standing to tell an abridged version of tale to any who would hear him out. Kamijou Touma knew that he deserved to have a little bit of fun.

"Olivia," Touma spoke. "You going to be okay to get to class on your own?"

"Olivia's" eyes were glued to the floor. As soon as she and her "distant relative" had walked into the hall, all male eyes were upon her, shifting away from the apple of Kamijou Touma's own eye. Her hands were curled into fists, as she repeatedly looked over her shoulder, expecting to be jumped at any moment. "Olivia" was nearly seething.

"Olivia" wasn't scared; she was furious, barely able to contain her rage. Touma couldn't blame her. Being ogled like a piece of meat, hanging in the window of a butcher's shop wasn't what she walked these halls for.

These wretched leeches had no concept of who she was, or what she'd been through. "Olivia" had interest in not even one of them; and, even in the present, they knew not what she could do to them, if she was backed into a corner. She would tear eyes, and flesh, among other things, if need be.

"Yes, all should be well," the former Magic God eventually managed to answer, her voice a whisper. "I can handle myself, Imagine Breaker. Keep it in your pants. You and I know both know this one has her eye on you."

Kamijou Touma looked to "Olivia", and pouted, mockingly before his lips curled into a vaguely sinister smirk. "What ever do you mean, Olivia-chan? I'm a good boy."

"You royally screw up, and you'll be answering to the merciless fangs, and, more importantly, the incessant nagging of the nun. Do not forget."

For a moment, Touma took his "distant relative" into his arms, and held her for some few seconds. He placed an affectionate kiss atop her head with his cold lips, and then patted her shoulder. When the two broke away, "Olivia" was quite clearly blushing, ever so slightly.

"I love you. I'll… see you, Olivia-chan, at one point or another. Take it easy, and… try not to kill Aogami. Last thing I need is to be bailing you out of some shithole reformatory."

"I will leave that to the one known as "Fukiyose-Sama", Imagine Breaker. I love you too."

With a nod, and a thin, but warm smile, Kamijou Touma's "distant relative" took her leave. Apparently, her ferocity had been projected into some sort of aura; the other males in the vicinity appeared unnerved, and were trying to ease themselves back into the conversations they'd abandoned.

Suddenly, all eyes were on Kamijou Touma; he was acutely aware of this fact, though it didn't matter to him in the slightest. The common, lesser rabble could gawk freely. He was beyond each and every one of them. Kamijou Touma knew he could stand against the entire school's student body on his own.

Touma found himself held within the tight, and identifiably protective embrace of a woman whose name was spoken of adoringly, in hushed whispers, in rumor and in legend; a woman who was oftentimes referred to as "Beauty-Senpai".

The side of Touma's face was smooshed into her bosom, likely intentionally. Her brainwave patterns certainly suggested that this was the case. He wasn't about to complain, either; the softness, and the warmness of her bosom was welcomed.

"I knew you'd show up sooner or later, my little kohai~. I've missed you greatly, you know. Where have you been, hmm? You can tell your senpai the truth; she's good at keeping secrets, you see. Have you been off getting into trouble? Oh, I've missed seeing that... handsome face of yours so very much. I could just kiss it off."

Kamijou Touma's voice was quiet, a whisper even. "You're hardly who I expected, but it's good to see you too, senpai. Actually, are you free, senpai? Can we talk? Somewhere private? I want to talk to you. I can trust you, I think, if I'm remembering the right person… my head's a little bit scrambled. Hard to explain, it's less about trust, more about you being stable enough to keep your head on straight, when the shit hits the fan. You might be able to lend me a helping hand, too. I have a little problem. Most of all… I just need to talk to someone else who's normal."

The answer wasn't the only thing that surprised Kumokawa Seria. Her timid little kohai was anything but timid, in the moment; he was clearly enjoying himself, and for that she was glad, but, he looked unconcerned. He should've been seizing up by this point, trying to pull away, but he wasn't; he was embracing it. Once or twice, he even rubbed the side of his face against her bosom, causing her to shudder, and nearly release an aroused moan.

Enviously, with rage in their hearts, the male students around Kamijou Touma muttered to themselves, as their female counterparts looked on in awe; it wasn't every day that Beauty-Senpai waltzed out into the open for all to see.

Kumokawa Seria didn't quite know what to make of the words her kohai was speaking. He was certainly acting differently than usual. He was quite cold to the touch, as well, almost unnaturally so. Seria hadn't noticed it, deep in her joy brought by Touma's return, but chills were perpetually running up and down her spine, as if she'd wrapped her arms around a great block of ice.

"Of course I have time for you, my little kohai. I can make time for you~."

Seria took her kohai's hand into her own, and lead him through the entranceway from which he'd come, her steps swift and sure. It was in that moment that Kamijou Touma, perhaps for the first time truly admitted to himself that Beauty-Senpai had a great lower body, to boot. Her legs were long and elegant, her feet just the right size. Incoming data informed Touma that this admittance was "good"; the feelings this admittance brought lead him to believe the silent, invisible, omniscient encyclopedia that was a part of him.

"This morning has been a hectic one; word of your arrival caught me unawares," Seria began. "But it was all worth it. Being able to see you again, my little kohai, is something worth working for; I'd caught wind of your re-appearance through chatter that was supposed to be private~. The news was relieving, but I still wished to see you for myself, again. Also… your hair? Flattened, like that? Handsome. Positively stunning, my little kohai. You look even more handsome than usual."

Seria caught Kamijou Touma grinning, almost smugly for a moment or two. That wasn't a facial expression she was used to seeing from her timid, innocent and mild-mannered little kohai.

"You'll inflate my ego if you keep that up, senpai. Among other things."

Seria's face became oddly stern; though Touma couldn't see it, her brainwave patterns gave her sudden sternness away, as Touma read her like an open book. Her hand's grip on his own had also tightened considerably, though Touma allowed no pain to come of it.

"Y-you're not only accepting, but actually returning my advances. Alright, there is something very wrong here. You're going to tell me what happened to you while you were "away", and you're going to tell me everything. Does that sound fair?"

Touma nodded. He looked to the bench, where the dark-haired girl had been sitting; she wasn't present any longer. The bench was unoccupied, though, it was far too close to the education facility for his own comfort.

"Somewhere quieter, more out of the way," Touma spoke. "This isn't something I want getting around. I'm already involved deeply in matters that shouldn't concern those who don't know a damned thing about what this place is really about. I shouldn't be involving you either, but, you've got a functioning head on your shoulders. I'm assuming you won't try to physically assault me for saying something you don't approve of, or start screaming at me."

Seria raised an eyebrow. "Of course I wouldn't~! That sounds like a passive-aggressive remark, my little kohai. Now that I've got you all to myself… I don't want to think that you're suffering. I'd like nothing more than to take care of you."

Their journey hadn't taken them all that far from the education facility itself; in fact, they hadn't even left the middle-high school's grounds. Some thirty feet off the cobbled walkway leading up to the entranceway of the facility, there were several small, naturally-formed hills, which were covered protectively by the rustling leaves of an old, grand tree. Shaded, and cool-looking, the small hills were a welcomed sight. There were no other students in sight, and, beyond the prying lenses of the facility's cameras, Kamijou Touma could speak his peace.

"Let me show you something, senpai. Promise you won't freak out."

"Though this is all very sudden, I've never been one to be easily unbalanced. Adaptation is key. I promise, my little kohai."

"I'm aware; I'm aware of a lot of things, I've remembered what was forgotten, I've changed. I'm trusting the person I remember; don't let me down, senpai."

Kamijou Touma's body began to produce an electronic humming tone; then, it came apart. Like clumps of his cells had suddenly split, the boy ceased to exist as a solid being, becoming instead a mass of floating, vaguely round-shaped clumps of some unknown matter.

Zeeee, nunununuuu.

Splitting into two distinct currents, the floating, disconnected mass that had been Kamijou Touma flowed towards the tree, where it reassembled at frightening speeds, becoming Kamijou Touma once again.

Seria's eyelids had widened. What had she even just seen? It would've taken people of lesser intellectual prowess longer to begin attempting to put the sight into perspective.

Seria had just barely seen something that sent one in a series of chills down her spine. That boy, that harmless, timid boy of hers had turned completely grey, just before he'd disassembled himself. Kamijou Touma hadn't even looked like a human being. He'd remained in that grey form as he'd reassembled, before numerous translucent arcs of some sort had danced across his form, restoring his clothes, his skin, and his body's hair.

"That's where I've been, senpai. They finally got me; I guess I was overdue for something like this. You know what they say about playing with fire. From what I could gather, I'm… me, this… I'm some sot of fucked up experiment. Can't do much with myself yet, but that's what I'm working on. I'm using them, senpai, for all they're worth. Trying to milk every ounce of knowledge that I can from them.

"Forced "machine-phase matter" infusion" or something. You can run now, I won't take offense, honest; If I'd seen this, before I was something more, I would've freaked, too. I wouldn't now though. Now, I understand a lot of things now, senpai. There was a fog that was lifted when this happened to me."

Seria's eyelids narrowed, and her lips curled downwards, into an aggressive, spiteful frown.

"Who did this to you."

Seria hadn't posed a question; she'd posed a statement, an outright demand.

"If I tell you," Touma began, "you'll need to promise me that you won't hunt them down, or something. I really don't know what you're capable of, and I need them alive, for a while longer. They're of use for now; the most useful of them all is this decrepit old man named Gensei.

"He did this to me, but that's not what's important. What's important is that I learn as much as I can about this, about what I am. After that's done… hell, after I'm done with him, everyone he's ever fucked over, all get together and just have a grand old time of torturing him, and everyone he knows to death, or maybe not to death. We could keep him alive, put him in the freezer, take them all out once they've healed, and start all over again. Don't go and act like they don't deserve it, senpai. They've done enough fucked up shit to ensure them all multiple lifetime getaways in Hell."

Kamijou Touma tossed himself down onto the grass, quite nonchalantly. Resting his arms behind the back of his head, he folded his right leg over his left and produced a sigh, despite lacking lungs. In truth, he'd simulated emulated the sound, based on his knowledge of what a human male's sigh sounded like. The sound hadn't even been his own.

"It's a shame I was always such a soft little thing, before. I missed out on a lot; you're beautiful, you're gorgeous, you know that, senpai? I think you do. I know you do, in fact; you're hardly someone who needs to rely on their looks, though. Your brainwave patterns are completely unique, they're so fast-moving! I can hardly keep up! You got places to be? If not, you should sit with me for a few minutes. I've got all the time in the world."

Seria tilted her head to one side. "This is all rather sudden. I need a moment."

" _And those words of violence coming from your lips, my little kohai, are truly disturbing."_

"Yup," Touma remarked. "Take your time." His eyelids closed, though through constant bursts of data he was informed of what made up his surroundings, from the movement of the birds in the trees to the repeated thumps of Kumokawa Seria's heart. He still didn't quite know if sleep, or if the engaging of a "shutdown function" was possible.

For a solid fifteen minutes, all was quiet. In that period of time, Kumokawa Seria had considered many things, and had weighed many options. She was no stranger to the Darkness of Academy City; hardly at all. In her line of work, it paid to remain current, and to be aware.

Eventually, Kumokawa Seria managed to spit out some vague, cryptic statement. It was the best she had. "This is a new low, my little kohai, even for "them". Know that no matter what you are, externally, I'll always love you."

"Will you, senpai? Do you have any idea how stressful this shit has been? That's one thing I can't quite block out. It gets in, eventually."

The question posed by her kohai caught Seria off guard; the post-question statement confused Seria even more, though, she wasn't about to let him know that; the jokes were on her, however, as the boy already knew. In mere seconds her brainwave activity had been identified, logged, and decoded, presented to Kamijou Touma in clear, understandable words. His senpai's confusion was both understandable and regrettable.

The boy's torso leaned upwards, effortlessly; he needed neither of his arms to support him, nor did he need to even move his legs an inch. "Every day, I'm trying to pull answers from these idiots, and every day they're trying harder and harder to keep the answers from me. It can't be all work and no play. I need release, you know, senpai; a break. I need a temporary escape from this nonsense. If I don't get it, I feel like I'm going to just kill the lot of them, and that won't be good for me. I'd be up shit creek without a paddle. I'm in a really convenient position right now, and I don't want to fuck it up. You know?"

Kumokawa Seria took her place next to her beloved underclassman. She folded her legs beneath her posterior, elegantly, and set her hands in her lap, as she looked into Kamijou Touma's darkened irises. Even if the time was ticking away, even if the bells were to ring soon, calling students to their classes, she had no need for classes, no need for the meager knowledge this educational facility could offer her; it was, however, a fair distraction from the troubles of her life.

"I do know, actually. I know quite a bit about what your predicament is like, to an extent, and I know all too well that release can be hard to find, my little kohai."

Then, the impossible had happened. Icy cold, Kamijou Touma's lips had suddenly found themselves pressed against Kumokawa Seria's own. Seria's eyelids widened, to the point of nearly tearing. He'd effortlessly closed the distance between himself and the woman known as Beauty-Senpai. As if he'd done this before a thousand times, when, in reality, he'd never done such a thing in his life, his hands found their way to Seria's hips.

For the first time in a long time, Seria had found herself being caught completely unawares. Her arms wrapped around the cold form of her kohai, and she pulled him as close as she possibly could. Repeatedly, her lips smacked against his own. They tasted coppery, oddly metallic; yet it was a taste that Seria could get used to. She knew this for a fact. It was different, not necessarily bad.

"How are you feeling, senpai? Is this alright? Not too sudden? Are you comfortable? Just tell me if you're feeling like something's wrong."

"Regardless of what you've become, you retain that sweetness I've adored, my little kohai. Yes. This is… this is good. I've never been more comfortable. Nothing has ever been better."

"Say my name," Touma commanded. With the knowledge that his senpai was consenting to this, whatever this truly was, he took control, when for so long he'd been complacent. Seria's mind was racing; just what was this boy? Who was he? He was going to end up causing Seria's panties to become absolutely soaking wet. She could already feel moisture pooling there, her womanhood aching like it'd never ached before. "Senpai? Everything alright?"

Awkwardly, Seria panted. "I'm in heaven… Touma, Touma… your name is Touma," Seria whispered, as she broke away momentarily, struggling to catch her breath. "Touma, Touma, Touma. This is what I've always wanted from you. I don't care what you are on the outside. Inside, you are… superior. Assertive, confident, but still, you've got that "Touma sweetness" to you. I'm fond of this, very, very fond. This newfound assertiveness of yours turns me on. At least a singular pro has come of your dreadful absence."

"How would you feel about gradually becoming closer, intimately, senpai? I'm glad that I bumped into you this morning. I'd love to treat a mature, understanding… older woman like you to a romantic evening, or more than one evening. I have a little bit more spending money these days, so… no worries there. Through you, I think I can find an ounce of normalcy. Hey, maybe you'll benefit, too."

Seria blinked once, twice, and then, as she forced herself to keep from instantly trying to figuratively throw her virginity to her assertive and confident kohai. Sitting herself in the grass next to him, Seria tossed her head back, as she pinched the skin atop her right hand.

"Not dreaming. Very well, then, this is well and truly happening; I'd always thought that I would be the one making requests. Your newfound initiative is arousing. The answer, of course, is a resounding yes! I, too am glad that we had the opportunity to… "bump into" one another."

Touma fully sat up, quite enthusiastically.

"Perform gesture widely considered to be romantic in nature," an influx of data suggested. Kamijou Touma wasn't about to shrug off the idea that was offered. Taking Seria's nearby right hand into his own hands, he raised its top to his cold lips, and placed a kiss to it. "I'll be… unavailable this evening, unfortunately, but, tomorrow evening shouldn't be an issue. What about you, senpai?"

Seria wasn't one to break into a blush; but she'd be lying to herself if she thought, even for a second, that she wasn't enjoying having her hand kissed by her precious little kohai. She could get used to the sensation of having this boy kiss her, especially in regions far more private than the tops of her hands.

"I'll see what I can do. Don't think that for even a moment I'll allow a small obstruction to halt me; no, Kamijou Touma, my little kohai. You'll be active on social media once again, I presume?"

Resting either of his hands between his open legs, Touma offered his senpai a polite nod, indicating that he was, indeed, active. "It'll be good to get a break, and to get a break with someone different, who isn't completely fucking insane, or completely needy. You're a diamond in the rough, senpai. I'm sorry for constantly dodging your advances, before. I was lost, and I didn't understand… but now, I understand everything."

Seria tilted her head to one side, as a sense of curiosity nearly overwhelmed her. It would've overtaken lesser people, but Kumokawa Seria was beyond such weakness. Her special brain was capable of many feats.

"You've nothing to be sorry for. Talk to me, my little kohai. Are you simply overwhelmed by life, seeking out a dependable, mature woman to support and to love you, or have you held… deeper feelings, for longer periods of time~?"

That answer to that question wasn't an easy one to provide, even for the thing that had once been a high school boy, whose mind seemed to have all the answers to every conundrum possible. The answer itself was there, as all answers always seemed to be, swiftly provided by an influx of data. It was more a matter of the moral implications of the apparent answer.

"I don't really have a reason to lie to you. It's a little bit of both," Touma remarked. "I want stability, even if I have stability in myself, or inside whatever I am. I'm still not too sure about what I'm even supposed to be. You have stability, senpai, but you're… you're also someone I know, from a long time ago. I still have enough human sense, or… I don't even know if I can categorize myself as human. You're still as attractive to me now as you were then. I had my reasons for not pursuing romantic interests. It doesn't matter so much, now."

Even if his response was more of a rambling, barely coherent mess of words, Kumokawa Seria understood. Like a motherly figure, the boy's senpai took him into her arms, making sure to rub her exceedingly ample bosom against the side of his arm. Deliberately, Kamijou Touma moved his face closer towards it, and a chill ran down Seria's spine. This confidence of his was about to make her moan. Seria had to physically bite her tongue.

"Thank you for your honesty, Kamijou Touma. Now kiss me, for a while longer, if you would. I want to milk this moment for all it's worth. I'd like to milk you, too. The palms of my hands are quite soft, as I regularly moisturize them."

Aroused, Seria's panties were soaking wet. She'd need to change them as soon an opportunity presented itself, and became possible. Alternatively, she wouldn't mind having her little kohai suck the moisture from them, as she watched on, her fingers inside of her womanhood. Seria's lips unconsciously curled upwards, into a smug grin.

Kumokawa Seria drew closer to her kohai, wrapping her arms around Kamijou Touma's shoulders, and pressing her right cheek against his cold left cheek. The low temperature of Touma's flesh was oddly relaxing; Seria felt like she'd rested her face against the side of a cold pillow, a particularly welcomed sensation. Unlike a pillow, however, Touma's flesh didn't grow warmer, even as Seria ran her own face's flesh against it.

"How long have you been having to… "take care of yourself", hmm~? It must become tiresome, after a while, all of that tugging. Would it not be better to lay yourself back, and allow your senpai to take care of you with her hands?" She laid a soft, sensual kiss upon the cheek of Kamijou Touma, whose hands had, of their own accord, fallen to his senpai's hips, as if he knew just what to do in this type of situation. He followed the instructions of his incoming data with the utmost attention to detail. "I've always wanted to make you… cum," Seria purred, almost aggressively.

"Who would've thought that it'd come to this?" Touma rhetorically inquired. He could feel things, still; affection, romantic desire. That was a plus. The tingling, originating roughly from where his stomach would've been when he'd been something less being proof of this. "Truthfully, I don't even know if I can do that still. Haven't tried."

Seria raised an eyebrow, inquisitively. "Well, my little kohai… we could find out, together. I'd love to help you explore yourself. When you're available, of course."

Her lips once again connected with her kohai's own. She couldn't have cared any less if anyone saw her engaging in "lewd" behavior; she wanted to be seen. Kumokawa Seria wanted everyone to see that she was laying her claim to this boy, Kamijou Touma.

"Grab me," Seria insisted. "My posterior. Grab it, Touma. My panties are very wet for you. I'm so wet for you."

His first day back to his place of education in a month, and here was, sitting in the grass beneath the shade provided by the leaves of a grand, old trees, where his Beauty-Senpai was encouraging him to engage in sexually explicit activities with her. Already, things were getting just a bit interesting for Kamijou Touma.

The twisted thing that'd once been a "normal high school boy" grinned, doing as he'd been told with pleasure. Kamijou Touma could very easily become used to this.


	4. Pressure

The winds whipped strong in Glastonbury, England; stronger than they had in some time. Shingles were torn from rooftops, and lines of laundry had rows of clothing torn away, carried off like a stereotypically helpless damsel in distress, clutched in the arms of a monster.

Though illuminated by the great, pale chunk of rock that orbited the planet, Glastonbury's town center was still darkened by the night's embrace. Streetlamps offered the best assistance they could, and it was much appreciated by those few that happened to be walking the streets.

On wings of inky darkness, illumination seen only on the brightest of summer days came, as if the sun had come crashing down onto the planet. Sudden, and bright, Glastonbury's town center was alight in crimson fire. Asphalt was destroyed, chunks sent fluttering into the air, walkways were torn apart, revealing the uncharacteristically intricate and vaguely futuristic metallic systems beneath them. The town center's medieval architecture was lost, as the outer shells of homes and of workplaces were burned away, peeling and crinkling before their inner structures collapsed, taking so many families with them.

Hair was instantaneously singed, flesh was charred from bone, and bone was melted, as civilians caught in the blaze weren't even given a chance to shriek in pain, or spread their lips in surprise, or terror.

Passing over the burning town's center, the beast on wings of darkness beat them against the air, rising. It performed a sudden nosedive, and the beast's lashing tail crashed against a great cathedral just beyond the Glastonbury Town's center. Mere milliseconds following the impact, stone crumbled, and stained glass shattered, as the beast rose once again, beating its great wings. The cathedral had been wrecked beyond repair, as its towers and transept spire came crashing down upon its once-gorgeous interior.

The Field of Avalon was the beast's target. Moving at hundreds of miles an hour, the beast closed the distance between itself and sole structure in the field quickly. The open grasslands shuddered, and the insects within fled at the sight of its shadowed form.

Though the beast couldn't have known it, beneath the Tor, tiny, flesh-covered things scurried through dank, thin passageways, in which they had to bend forward to safely manoeuver through. Clad in thick, plated body armor, they rushed from their posts, and grabbed for their swords and for their shields. An official splinter faction of the Knights of England made their move.

Among the cobbled flooring of the Glastonbury Tor, one particular section of the flooring proved itself to be different from the rest, as latches were flicked beneath it, chants of spell-breaking were muttered, and a lid was lifted upwards, then tossed away. Up a stone staircase, feet clad in plated boots shuffled.

"What was…?"

"DRAGON?!"

"DRAGON!"

"DON'T ACT SO BLEEDIN' SURPRISED, YE DUMMIES! MOVE YER ARSES, DRAGONGUARD! ALERT TH' QUEEN! PUT BUCKIN'AM ON HIGH ALERT!"

A group of ten had emerged from beneath the Tor; they huddled against the stone walls of the Tor, as a sea of flame consumed it. The Tor held fast, resisting the torrent of what smelled and had looked like hellfire. This beast truly was foolish for choosing to assault the tomb of the man who'd fought its kin by the thousands, like so many simple challenges.

"Iyul tak wgvuld, rwel nak, Pendragon…"

One knight looked to another, as another fifteen of their fellows piled out from within the belly of the Tor.

"What foul tongue does it speak in?" One inquired, as he peaked his head around the corner. Beneath the Tor's northern archway, all he could see was the beast's glowing, honey-colored eyes. Like two orbs illuminating the darkest depths of the sea's abyssal zone, their eyelids closed, and the beast blinked, once, and then a second time. "I 'eard 'Pendragon'. It knows, 'hen? Wish we 'ould git a looksie at the bloody bastard."

"I'd be takin' this a bit more seriously, if I was you, lad! The bloomin' town's burnin'!"

Indeed; a second peak the first speaking knight took, and he saw Glastonbury burning, the flames climbing towards the sky, as if they were reaching up towards Heaven itself. The great, old cathedral could be seen perpetually collapsing, like a rotten fruit whose innards had finally become little more than mounds of amorphous goop.

"Call it in, lads! Quick soilin' yer knickers! 'all bloody Buckin'am!"

"Iyul tak wgvuld, rwel nak, Pendragon," the beast repeated. Its voice boomed and echoed repeatedly, shaking the very foundations of Glastonbury's Tor.

When no answer came, the beast neared, shaking the earth as it approached. As it closed in on the Tor, the Knights of England within could make out only the simplest of features; a long snout, great, sharpened fangs, and gnarled scales, black as the darkness of the night itself.

"Must I address you in this… disgusting tongue? My Iyul, my father requests the wgvuld – remains – of Deadking Pendragon. Bring them to me, and you will nak… live. My father knows they are here, and I, Crotas, my father's greatest and firstborn have been tasked with collecting them. I will not repeat myself."

A knight within, a tall and brave man stepped forward, holding the tip of his blade outwards. Beneath the shuttered visor of his full-faced helmet, he stared the winged lizard down.

"Come 'n git 'em yerself, ye ugly sunnavabitch. Ol' Arthur used ta beat yer lads up on the daily, 'n now yer 'ere, tryin' ta nick his ol' bones? He ought ta crawl up himself, and stick one of 'em up yer BIG, STUPID lizard arse!"

The other knights fell back against the Tor's inner walls, as the beast took a great, deep breath; the beast's verbal attacker stumbled backwards, and fell.

He'd assumed his life to be over; his brothers could little to save him. At least he'd given the beastie what-for before the end.

But they didn't have to; Glastonbury's Tor did. The dragonfire emerging from the beast's maw licked at the Tor, but was unable to even penetrate its open northern archway. As if an invisible barrier was in place, the flames were forced away, like a mighty fan's generated breeze was pushing against them.

Howling aloud in frustration, the dragon's cry sounded like the screams of one billion dying virgin girls. Its tail slammed into the Tor, but did the structure no harm.

"NAVAAK! NAVAAK! Wretched human filth! Rfunur! No good! I spit in the mouth and eyes of your flag and country! Althuriun take you! My father shall tan your stinking hides!"

As it ranted, the winged reptilian leapt into the air, beating its wings against the air in order to rise. Its long, thick legs dangled, and its paws' sharpened talons were suddenly defined beneath the moonlight; easily two hundred meters in length, the beast's wingspan was that and some. Its wings, enormous and bat-like, were a terrible sight for even the Knights of England to behold on their own. Just how such a creature could even exist without collapsing in on itself, the Knights of England that had remained above ground could only wonder. Breathing one last plume of fire down upon Glastonbury Town, the beast shrieked aloud, as it flew off into the night, leaving only tragedy and decimation in its wake. Trails of smoke, the screams of widows and widowers and the shrieks of children rose high into the air, like a symphony of death.

Most knights had returned into the suffocating depths of the Tor that'd protected their very lives, two-way communication runes gathered.

A total of four knights remained above ground. Each was as stunned as the other; apparently, these four shared a mutual desire to simply stand there, and attempt to keep their minds from unravelling.

"A-Althuriun? Did ye hear that beastie say the same thing as I did, lads?"

"Yessir… them Old Verses, huh? What's the Queen going to bloody well make of this? This mean it's… the End Time? Ye think them old things tell the truth?"

"Don't be shtupid, lad. Dragons sure as Heaven ain't legends, but that Althuriun sure 'as bloody 'ell is. Quit shakin' lad. Are you a lad, or a lass? Buckle up, and proper get ready! This might not be the last bloomin' ugly lizard we see t'night."

"What the fuck is even happening? I think I fell asleep. Frenda, how much longer does this… thing, run for?"

Though the film presented upon the great screen before she and her "coworkers" continued, Mugino Shizuri had just about her fill of the high fantasy nonsense. Rising from her seat, Academy City's number four level five tore her extra large-sized drink from her seat's cup holder, and made her way out of the isle, leaving her coworkers behind. The heels of her stilettos clacked, as she passed other irate moviegoers by.

"Mugino? Basically, where are you going off to? The movie's just barely started!"

"Yeah, Mugino. You're super going to walk out on me again?"

"This is fucking retarded. Don't be late, no pit stops."

In unison, both of Shizuri's coworkers remarked, "yes Mugino."

* * *

"One of these days, you need to come and see me, my sweet little kohai. I live on my own; we can… reconnect, there, away from the prying eyes of this school's student body looking us up and down. I'm not necessarily propositioning you for sex, but… if I'm speaking honestly, the option is more than there. It's hardly like the two of us are strangers, hm? We simply managed to "grow apart".

Touma allowed either of his arms to fall limply to his sides; as a result, Seria looked to him, disappointedly. She'd obviously been thoroughly enjoying herself. Still, Seria wasn't going to pressure her little kohai. No mature, older girl would do something so immature and selfish.

"Reconnect… yeah. That whole thing's honestly a long story. It's nice to be able to reconnect with you, senpai, but it still feels like I'm in some daze, sometimes. Kind of hard to explain in short," Touma remarked. "Senpai…?"

"Call me Seria, Touma, please. There's no need to be so formal."

"Alright… Seria, heh. Have you had that feeling where you wanted to do something, but then you forgot it? Then, a few minutes later, after some pacing it comes flooding back, and you exclaim, "oh"?

"Every person does, Touma," Seria replied, softly. She tried to keep her features from folding into a cringe. A certain Mental Out user's sly, winking face appeared in her mind's eye, and Seria subsequently attempted to banish it.

" _Shokuhou."_

She picked herself up, panting slightly, as she attempted to keep her legs from rubbing together. Kumokawa Seria had become almost completely unhinged; she was dripping wet. Her womanhood was obviously lubricating itself for a reason, which both parties were aware of. "I have, the people you walk by on the street have, everyone does."

Following in his senpai's proverbial footsteps, Touma rose as well. If he'd been wearing actual clothing, they would likely be covered in grass stains; his form left an indent in the grass, suggesting that Kumokawa Seria had been pressing down upon him much harder than he'd thought. He certainly hadn't felt any pressure.

"It was like that, when I was turned into what I am now, whatever this is. Once the pain subsided, anyways. Then, it was like I suddenly remembered… or realized I knew about thousands of things at once, and it was the strangest sensation; I was grateful for it, because it let me know I could still feel, which is nice."

Seria forcibly held back a grimace; the idea of the boy standing before her being in any sort of pain infuriated her, and made her want to strangle the heartless wretch who'd harm someone like him. Maybe Seria would, despite Touma's protests.

Pushing such violent thoughts to the back of her mind, Kumokawa Seria moved close to her kohai, and walked at his side, the image of elegance and maturity. For the moment, she was happier than she'd been in a long time; the face of a certain Tokiwadai Middle School student flashed through her mind's eye once again, but this time Seria grinned; she'd win, in the end. She was already so much closer to him than Mrs. Tits had ever been. Not moments ago, she'd kissed his lips, and he'd grasped her buttocks, and he'd liked it. She'd seen it on his face, he'd loved it. Oh, there was so much more for him; all Kumokawa Seria's little kohai had to do was reach out and grab it.

She held her head high, and, with not even a hint of a blush on her face, Seria informed Touma of her predicament. "I'll… I need to pay the restroom a visit, my little kohai. You've driven me just a little bit too wild, not that I mind. You're welcome to get me wet whenever you'd like.

"My offer is still on the figurative table, should you want to take me up on it. Does someone… of your newfound, hm, distinction even require schooling? Regardless, this might sound selfish, but, I'd prefer it if you continued to attend, simply so that we could see one another more regularly. Besides… your friends have missed you, too. They've been worried. Most of them."

Touma had an idea as to who his senpai was referring to; Touma knew exactly who the exception was, and he had his reasons for feeling like he knew. The blonde-haired, sunglasses-wearing spy always did have ulterior motives, many of them. That was okay, that was fine. If he became a problem, he could be dealt with.

Touma shrugged nonchalantly, as both he and Seria approached the entranceway doors of the middle-high school. Effortlessly, Touma flung the leftmost door open, and held it for the older, mature woman he so greatly admired, before he stepped into the facility's halls himself; Touma didn't even try to stop his eyes from following the swaying motion of Kumokawa Seria's hips, nor did he try to stop himself from ogling her posterior.

He had no reason to; it was obvious that this woman wanted him, and he knew that he wanted her, too. He could protect her, he could protect everyone, better than ever before. He could allow this to happen.

Kamijou Touma almost found himself thanking the man responsible for this transformation. Almost.

If doing so would've actually accomplished anything, Touma could've licked his lips, as he beheld the sight before him; what, exactly had he been hiding himself from for all these years? Of course, there were certain females who couldn't be freely ogled, but, Kumokawa Seria wasn't among them.

"I don't have to," Touma eventually answered, following a period of silence. "I know everything this place could teach me; that goes for any school here, really. I was never taught, but I just… "know" how the Personal Reality functions, from what part of the brain its "signal" is broadcasted, everything.

"I mean, there are some things I couldn't tell you; I couldn't tell you what the height of Mount Everest was in the year 1975, but, I know a lot now, senpai— I mean, Seria. I can tell just by looking, by touching, you know? For example, I know there are no cancerous cells in your body that could currently pose a danger to you, and I know that your blood sugar levels are normal, for someone of your age, weight and height. Like you said, the only reason I'm even here is because my, uh, relative, Olivia-chan thought that it'd be good for me to come see some people. Bumping into you was a pleasant surprise."

Seria produced a soft, curious-sounding "hm". She didn't quite know what to make of the information her kohai was sharing with her. He seemed paranoid; he'd look over his shoulder as he spoke, and would look from side to side, as if he was searching for individuals who could potentially overhear him.

With a nod, Seria had already decided what her next actions would be. Seria turned to look at Kamijou Touma, and awkwardly shoved him into a locker, taking full control. She pressed her lips against his own, and repeatedly kissed him. Seria's tongue found itself slipping into Touma's mouth, and, like two warring serpents, they clashed, as a coppery taste filled Seria's mouth.

"Touma. Did you like that? I liked that. Go say "hello" to your friends. Like I said, my offer will always be on the figurative table. I don't expect an immediate answer. If and when you're feeling up to it, my apartment's door is always open to you, as are… other things. I've always wanted to whisper sweet nothings like this into your ears, my little kohai. I could just eat you up. I could just drop to my knees… and grab onto that cock of yours, and…"

Just as a group of stragglers entered the halls of the middle-high school, Kumokawa Seria thrust herself against Kamijou Touma, rubbing her bosom against his upper torso as she smacked her lips against his own. The stragglers, all male students, collectively ground to a halt, wearing horrified and sorrowful facial expressions. The perfect, mature and intelligent Beauty-Senpai was grabbing at that bastard's crotch with her hands.

"W-who is that?! K-Kamijou and… wow, she's b-beautiful."

"STOP SHOWING OFF YOUR HAREM!"

"KAMIJOU, YOU ASSHOLE! You've corrupted Beauty-Senpai!"

"FUCK YOU, KAMIJOU! LEAVE SOME GIRLS FOR US!"

If the "old" Kamijou Touma had been caught in a predicament such as the he'd found himself in, he likely would've tried to squirm away, violently bleed from his nostrils, then faint, in that order. The "new" Kamijou Touma, however, wasn't going to let such cowardly nonsense play out; he wasn't going to act complacently, either. That was just as, if not even more pathetic.

Touma threw his arms around Kumokawa Seria's waist, and stared at the stragglers, as he craned his neck in their direction. Seria, obviously on board with Touma's "methods" began to kiss his neck, struggling to hold back giggles as she did so. She wanted word to fly that the boy belonged to her. The gap between her legs might as well have been Niagara Falls.

Two floors above the middle-high school's ground floor, in which the scene was unfolding, a young-seeming woman named Tsukuyomi Komoe felt a particularly painful pang in the right side of her chest; so painful was it that she clutched her swiftly-beating heart, much to the concern of her class. Then, from the chair she stood upon, she fell face-first onto her desk.

"Nice to see you too. You, blue-hair. You're a middle schooler, right? I think I remember you being paired up with the Jumpy Bunny. How's that going for you? She a good tutor?"

Kamijou Touma had successfully diverted the stragglers' attention away from himself, and from Kumokawa Seria, who was too busy helping herself to her kohai's body, and getting off on the attention the scene was receiving to even pay much mind to the boys who'd entered; they all looked like undesirables, anyways.

"Just stick a love letter in the Jumpy Bunny's locker and be done with it."

"That would make her cry, dipshit! Kamijou already did that! Do you want to be like him?!"

"YES! YES I DO!"

Infighting broke out amongst the boys as they walked on, leaving Kamijou Touma and Kumokawa Seria to their own business.

Kumokawa Seria forcibly pulled herself away, and tossed her head back, which caused locks of her dark hair to flutter about. She tugged at the bottom of her uniform's top, and adjusted the band that held her hair's fringe in place. "Now, truthfully, I need to take my leave, my little kohai. I'll be looking forward to our get-together. Please don't stand me up. Oh… and, you've popped a boner. Might want to tuck that in."

With a wink, Seria turned her back to Kamijou Touma, and swayed her hips from side to side as she walked; Seria could almost feel her kohai's lustful gaze, and she adored every second of it, soaking it up like rays of sunshine.

"No way, wouldn't do that. I'm lookin' forward to it too, senp— Seria. Catch you then, I guess. It was good seeing you… actually, good might be an understatement."

"It was good to see you too, my little kohai. Take care of yourself; there's far more where that came from. All you have to do is ask your senpai for it, and she'll provide."

With that, Kumokawa Seria rounded a corner, and, after offering Kamijou Touma a short, but oddly seductive wave, she disappeared.

Kamijou Touma clicked his tongue, his lips curling into a satisfied grin as he made his way towards the nearby staircase, which was located behind two great, metallic doors, with the intend to make his way towards that oddly familiar room, where Komoe-sensei would stand up on her chair and make all sorts of silly facial expressions as she passionately delivered her lectures. Hopefully, his erection – apparently, he was capable of getting one – would dissipate by that point.

"OLIVIA-CHAN! PLEASE MARRY ME! I LOVE YOU!"

"Stop."

"I HAVE A RING AND EVERYTHING! I'LL GET DOWN ON ONE KNEE! YOU'RE SOOOO BEAUTIFUL! LET ME SPEND THE REST OF MY DAYS WITH YOOOUUUU!"

"Please. Stop. Now."

"Olivia, Kamijou Touma's distant cousin hailing from Denmark" found herself in a bind. Somehow, that serpent, the one known as Aogami Pierce had managed to slither his way into the seat next to her, in the second row of desks closest to the pink one's greater-sized desk. If only the pink one was actually conscious, she could've done something about the uncomfortable predicament "Olivia" found herself in. The very skin stretched over her skeletal structure crawled at the sight of him.

Normally, Fukiyose Seiri, the one who kept these cretins in line would've knocked Aogami Pierce out, or at least would've beat some sense into him. With both Fukiyose Seiri and the quiet one, Himegami Aisa tending to their perpetually-gasping teacher, however, "Olivia" was fighting a losing battle on her own, apparently without any backup.

Aogami Pierce leaned in just a bit closer, and "Olivia" reeled even further away; just the scent of him was putrid. The boy reeked of stale baked goods, something that vaguely smelled like rotten fish, and an overabundance of cologne.

"Aogami, knock it off. You're making Oli-chan uncomfortable. She told you to stop, so it's time to stop. Would you like if it the shoe was on the other foot? I don't think so. You give guys a bad name."

"Olivia" turned her head around, closing her eyes as her vision passed the leering, grinning Aogami Pierce by. Some three rows of desks behind "Olivia's", an auburn-haired girl spoke. Her hair was tied into a knot, and white glasses with large, square-shaped frames adorned her face.

Aogami Pierce, ever the charmer, turned to face the auburn-haired girl as well, wearing a disapproving facial expression. "You must be straight; you obviously don't know how the mind of a woman works, Kobayashi-chan. You see, when a woman says "no", what she really means is… "yes". Watch and learn about the intricate maze that is a woman's mind. Take notes, now, you could need this someday."

The blue-haired boy reached forward, and "Olivia" sprung up, both of her eyes, glass and organic stared deeply into Aogami Pierce's own. The corner of her lip twitched, as she inhaled deeply. "Olivia" clenched her fists as she attempted to calm herself down; she could see that ugly, smug grin on his face, and it made her want to punch it off.

"Touch me, and you die; this is your final warning. I won't tolerate this, not from you, not from anyone else."

Though the boy with the blue hair reeled, it was only partially due to "Olivia's" threat; instead, a great, dark shadow loomed over him. Aogami Pierce shrunk, and sank into his seat, as the shadow placed its clenched fists on its hips. Like a child fearing the wrathful reprisal of a parent after they'd misbehaved, Aogami Pierce awkwardly shuddered.

Before Aogami Pierce, Fukiyose Seiri stood, with murder in her eyes. Her right eyebrow was raised, suspiciously.

Long, dark-colored hair fell to her back, matching the color of her eyes' irises. Her body type was athletic; though she wasn't a particularly muscular girl, many knew she needed no muscles to deliver a truly vicious blow to her enemies, or to the members of the infamous "Delta Force". Clad in the middle-high school's uniform, consisting of a grey-colored sweater-vest, a greyish-blue skirt, and a pair of dark-colored loafers, the young woman's exceedingly ample bosom was highlighted even in the uniform's baggy top. Evidently, despite transferring from the old, ruined high school, she'd chosen to wear the middle-high school's uniform.

With a tone of voice filled with barely-suppressed disgust, Seiri spoke. "Is there a problem here? Until sensei returns to proper health, I'll be dealing with any issues that appear in this classroom… personally."

"Olivia" snorted, and wriggled uncomfortably in her seat; even if that creature, Aogami Pierce been four or five feet away from her, "Olivia" still felt like she'd been violated, as if some invisible, wretched aura had latched onto her and infected her. "This wretched womanizer has pushed me to my limit. I dare not strike him unless I absolutely must, for I won't stop striking if I do."

Fukiyose Seiri had heard enough; past 'infringements' already proved Aogami Pierce guilty as charged.

Grabbing either side of the blue-haired boy's head, she swiftly cracked his neck, knocking him unconscious almost instantaneously. Like a puppet who had a puppeteer's arm pulled out from within it, Aogami Pierce slumped over, his face striking the surface of his desk.

"Sorry, Olivia-chan," Seiri remarked, softly. She knelt beside the desk of the golden-haired beauty, and folded her arms over its cool, wooden surface. Tilting her head to one side, Seiri offered "Olivia" an awkward, crooked smile.

"He does this to all the girls, it's awful. I mean it, Olivia-chan, don't be afraid to defend yourself. Your body is your body, and nobody has the right to touch it without your explicit permission. No type of sexual harassment is "lesser" than any other type. You can always come to us; we've… figured out ways to handle him as a pack. Something should really be done about it, but, until then, we have to stick together and protect one another."

With Aogami Pierce temporarily rendered a non-issue, the classroom's students returned to business as usual. While they waited for their teacher to be roused from her apparently comatose state, small groups were formed, in which quiet discussions were had. The auburn-haired girl with the white glasses opened a small book on her desk, and began to quietly read, to pass the time. Leaning back in her seat, "Olivia" crossed one leg over the other.

"He disgusts me," she snapped. "I can't lay a hand on him unless doing so becomes absolutely necessary; If I was to do so, I would beat him dead. You obviously have more restraint than I. Something should, indeed be done, very much so."

As silence descended over the girls, a familiar face stepped into the classroom, and closed the room's heavy, metallic door behind him. Upon turning to look, Fukiyose Seiri produced a soft, sudden gasp, and quickly rose to her feet.

"One moment, Olivia-chan. There're some things your relative and I have to discuss. If he wakes up and starts bothering you again, feel free to call for me, okay?"

Fukiyose Seiri began her death march towards him, and Himegami Aisa's lips curled into a thin smile, just as she'd managed to successfully rouse their dazed teacher; the Deep Blood user had seen him in the corner of her eye.

"You," Seiri spoke, harshly, as she closed the distance between herself and Kamijou Touma. The various conversations taking place within the classroom's walls dropped in volume, becoming a series of hushed whispers.

Touma raised a hand, and half-heartedly waved at Seiri, and then at Himegami Aisa, before he allowed his right hand to limply fall back at his side. "Oi. Nice to see you, Fukiyose, Himegami."

With plenty of warning, at least internally, Seiri's nose was only a few mere inches away from his own. Touma had seen her coming, and had easily calculated how long it took her to march towards him; as always, his internal calculations were on point. With her arms folded beneath her bosom, the iron wall girl held her ground, and looked into the boy's eyes, suspiciously.

"Just where have you been, Kamijou? Just about everyone's heard about your little Houdini act. You could've at least texte…"

"Not in the mood, Fukiyose. Relax, would you? You're acting like this is a big deal when it really isn't, just like always. I had some personal business to take care of, I took care of it, and I'm going to have to take care of it again. I don't have to report what I do to anyone. I don't need your permission, or anyone else's. Step back, and learn to give people the space they need."

Kamijou Touma's "distant relative" looked at him with curious eyes, and a crooked, questioning facial expression. "Olivia" raised an eyebrow, as if to ask, "what are you doing?"

Kamijou Touma casually approached, and then tossed himself into his desk's seat, in the fourth row. There was normalcy in this setting, a sense that this setting was one which was absolutely mundane and completely unremarkable, at least in a place like Academy City. It was a welcomed break from the constant barrage of madness that Kamijou Touma was almost becoming used to.

Fukiyose Seiri had left the topic at that. She'd huffed, and returned to her own seat, her fists clenched, as Himegami Aisa left their recovering teacher's side. Something was certainly different about Kamijou Touma. Seiri wasn't certain, however, as to the identity of the creature that'd crawled into his anal tract and died. He was aggressive, almost like he had something to hide. The iron wall girl would need to think on the matter.

Komoe's face was pale, though it appeared that its usual rosy coloration was slowly returning. Clad in her classic "Komoe-sensei attire", her pink hair was messy. Whatever it was that Himegami Aisa had done, it'd worked; Komoe would live another day. Her students didn't know it, but Komoe desperately needed to crack open a few cans of Academy City's cheapest alcohol and toss a few back.

Unsteadily, she rose, standing up on the seat of the chair behind her great wooden desk. Softly clearing her throat, she began to speak. "W-welcome back, K-Kamijou-chan! We've all missed you dearly! T-things just haven't been the same without you. I h-hope everything is well!"

"Thanks, sensei," Touma remarked. "Everything's fine. I had some personal business to take care of."

With that, Komoe continue to deliver her lecture. Always passionate, the young-seeming teacher quickly perked up, and, in mere minutes was deeply lost within the words of the subject matter of which she was discussing.

Her words were oddly hypnotic to Touma, who found himself becoming lost in them. As the young-seeming woman's lips moved, Kamijou Touma's vision followed them, carefully examining every inch they moved, every crease in his teacher's skin that became visible as she spoke. She was a good distraction from all the nonsense he'd found himself putting up with.

For a while, Kamijou Touma allowed himself to become lost in his teacher's passionate lecture, until his concentration was interrupted by a soft, timid-sounding voice.

"… hi, Touma. We've missed you. I hope you've been alright."

Somehow, Himegami Aisa had managed to squeeze herself into the seat of the desk directly next to Touma's own; he was hardly surprised, and he wasn't about to question it.

"Oi, Himegami. It's nice to see you again. You look good, as usual. I like the way you styled your hair, the way you curled the tips is really nice. The curls suit you."

Himegami Aisa awkwardly fiddled with her fingers, as she kept her eyes locked on the young-seeming teacher before her. Kamijou Touma was addressing her directly, actually paying attention to her. It felt absolutely wonderful, even if he'd only spoken a few words to her. He truly was a dear friend to her. Aisa couldn't have known it, but blood was rushing to her face.

"… t-thank you, Touma."

"No worries. You do you, Himegami. Long as you do that, you'll be gorgeous. You shouldn't try and be anyone else. You know you best, right?"

No more words were exchanged between the two; both Touma and Aisa knew exactly what would happen if their teacher learned that her lesson wasn't the only subjecting being paid attention to in the classroom. The poor, overly-emotional little creature's heart would break.

The topic of personal realities was covered, for the umpteenth time. Apparently, having the same information, with small blocks of new information added on each lesson was the way "lower" schools like these saw fit to teach its student body. Komoe found herself unable to resist her urges, and she'd ended up speaking at length about the intricacies of pyrokinesis, her speciality. Touma found the change to be refreshing, and welcomed something different from the norm. Regardless, he knew how it all worked. Though he'd never been taught, he simply 'knew'. Influxes of data were quick to assure him of that much.

Eventually, Aogami Pierce had come to, but even he had the smarts to know better than to interrupt Komoe-sensei's lesson. Evidently, she hadn't even noticed that he'd been out like an unpowered lightbulb.

Once her lecture had come to its close, pens and pencils were set down, various means of adapting information from verbal form to a recorded medium were closed, or locked, or stuffed away in a pocket, Komoe placed her hands upon her hips, and nodded her head, as if in self-approval.

"You've all done a wonderful job, today! EXCELLENT! Are there any questions before we get down to work? Sensei is always willing to put forth the extra effort." Softly, and entirely to herself, the tiny, child-like, mostly pink teacher giggled.

Aogami Pierce, much to the shared annoyance of both "Olivia" and Fukiyose Seiri, was the first to speak. "Sensei! Where's Kami-yan?! I have to talk to him about something important!"

Komoe raised an eyebrow, and blinked. Her facial expression twisted into one of curiousness. "Silly! Kamijou-chan is behind you. Just look! Didn't you notice him come in before the lesson?"

The boy with the blue hair practically spun in his seat. Spotting Kamijou Touma out, Aogami Pierce's perpetually closed eyelids nearly split open with shock. Something was very, very different. That normally goofy, pointy hair of his wasn't pointy at all; it was combed downwards, for starters; more, he held himself with a confidence the blue-haired boy had never before seen. Kamijou Touma's facial expression looked like it could've been shared by a monarch, unimpressed with their court jester's performance. He leaned back in his seat, with his arms folded across his chest, one leg folded across the knee of the other; Aogami Pierce could almost see a pile of cute girls sitting around him.

Aogami Pierce's rage was growing; that bastard Kamijou Touma was self-aware, wasn't he? Finally, like one of those AIs in the post-apocalypse sci-fi films, the bastard had gotten smart, and the world was going to pay for it.

"K-Kami-yan? What's with the getup, huh? Have you finally decided to embrace the fact that you have a harem?! O-oh… shit. Has it gone to your head?! We have to put Kami-yan down! He's going to become God-Emperor of Mankind!"

Touma simply clicked his tongue in response, and stared ahead, barely giving the blue-haired boy the time of day. "Komoe-sensei asked if anyone had a question. Presumably, she was referring to questions about the lesson. Don't be an idiot, as hard as that might be for you, Aogami."

"Stone Cold Kami-yan," Pierce remarked, turning around, and leaning back, casually in his seat. "Stooone cold. I'll catch you later. I actually do have something to talk to you about."

"We'll see about it."

Komoe could practically reach out and touch the one-sided tension in the room. She awkwardly looked to her right, and then to her left. Just what was with her precious little Kamijou-chan? For as long as she'd known the boy, he'd never behaved like this; this was completely out of character for the soft-spoken and complacent boy, and Komoe knew it.

Taking a quick breath, Komoe regained her composure, and put on a happy face for her beloved students.

To Kamijou Touma's surprise, time flew by, and relative normalcy surrounded him on all fronts. During the periods in which he'd spend his time within the confines of a classroom, complete normalcy consistently descended, again and again, almost like clockwork. Once, he'd encountered the Jumpy Bunny in the hallways, but, aside from this event, the day was unfolding unremarkably.

Then, his legs had come apart, getting stuck in the walls of the middle-high school's second floor male bathroom. After some work, he'd reigned in the nanorobots that'd suddenly become so obsessed with colliding with the walls. To his thankfulness, Kamijou Touma had been that bathroom's only visitor, at that point.

Then, the timeslot in which physical education would take place came knocking, the day's last period.

Somehow, between encountering the Jumpy Bunny, who, oddly, hadn't quite seemed as jumpy as usual, and making his way to the rather expansive, grassy field located behind the middle-high school, Kamijou Touma found himself being shadowed by a certain blue-haired boy.

The boy was under the assumption that Kamijou Touma didn't know of his presence; the blue-haired boy assumed wrong. Touma's own brain's wave patterns gave Pierce's existence away.

"Oi, Aogami. I know you're there. You can stop acting like a fucking weirdo now. Anytime. Really, I insist."

The blue-haired boy produced a soft, irritated grunt, as he fell in line with Kamijou Touma's footfalls, walking at the apparently soon-to-be-crowned harem king. "Am I really getting so sloppy? Was it the smell? I forgot to shower, I know! It can't be that obvious though! Not fair! Kami-yaaaaaaan! Where have you been?! Your cute relative has been rejecting me at every turn, and I! WANT! HEEERRR!"

The two were hardly the first to arrive in the field. Of their own class, their teacher, just as miniscule as ever, Fukiyose Seiri, Himegami Aisa, and Touma's own "distant relative hailing from Denmark, "Olivia" had arrived. Touma made note of the fact that his "relative" had opted for a pair of boys' track shorts, rather than the revealing women's shorts which were standard issue. A part of him couldn't blame her for doing so, and, yet, another part of him loathed the idea of Othinus hiding her body, when she'd always been so willing to flaunt it.

Kamijou Touma didn't speak another word to Aogami Pierce. Instead, he picked up his pace, and took his place next to his teacher. Towering over her, the young-seeming woman looked up to him, and offered him a warm smile.

"Yomikawa-sensei should be here at any moment! Unfortunately, it seems that she's running a bit off-schedule… oh my, I hope everything's alright. I can't just leave you kids out here by yourselves, now can I? Hm… but, how is the lesson planning for tomorrow going to get done, now…? Oh WELL!"

Touma paid the blue-haired boy next to him a glance, and he immediately regretted doing so. Like a predator, Aogami Pierce could be seen, his head tilted in "Olivia's" direction. He wasn't doing anything overtly disgusting, though, the way he stared her up alone made the once pointy-haired boy want to deck him.

"Stop looking at me."

Touma found himself grinning. A sick part of him loved watching the former Magic God handle herself. With a domineering firmness, she'd spoken her piece, as she crossed her arms beneath her bosom. Next to "Olivia", Fukiyose Seiri cracked her knuckles, threateningly, and Aogami Pierce instantaneously looked away.

"B-but, Olivia-chan! You're being so cruel! You won't even give me a chance, after all. You don't know me, or what I'm about! I'm the sweetest boy in the world, this side of a light novel protagonist!"

Her eyelids slammed shut, and "Olivia" began to grind her teeth, as she raised her right fist. Her body awkwardly vibrated, and a vein in the side of her head throbbed.

"I. HAVE. NO. INTEREST. IN. YOU… STOP. TALKING. TO… ME… OR. I… WILL… KILL… YOU. DELUDED. PERVERT."

"Is that a "maybe", Olivia-chan?"

From afar, a canteen of water was hurled. In an arc it flew, and eventually made contact with the back of Aogami Pierce's head. Its hardened metallic surface crashed against bone, and, like a lightswitch, the blue-haired boy's consciousness was flicked off. Tumbling forward, he found himself face-first in the grass. "Olivia" produced a sigh of relief, as Himegami Aisa patted her on the shoulder. Komoe was whispering something to her; Touma could've eavesdropped, but didn't.

"Oi, Tsukuyomi. It's not hard to put him down. Even a small child like you could do so with ease."

Yomikawa Aiho had arrived, evidently. Having closed the distance between herself and the unconscious form of Aogami Pierce, she collected her canteen. Clad in a simplistic, green tracksuit, the soles of her sports shoes were plastered with hardened mud. Long, dark hair trailed down her back, tied into an elegant, but efficient knot. Not far behind her, scores of other students, part of the same class as Kamijou Touma's arrived, some mere minutes behind schedule.

In response to her fellow teacher's statement, the young-seeming Tsukuyomi Komoe stuck her head up, her cheeks glowing a bright shade of pink. As the childlike teacher began to take her leave, she announced, "don't push yourself too hard, Kamijou-chan! It's only your first day back, after all! Take things at your own pace. Just try your best!"

If only she knew what he was capable of. Othinus seemed to be thinking similar thoughts, as she cast an awkward gaze in her Understander's direction. In response, Touma simply shrugged at her, and turned his attention to Yomikawa Aiho, who'd already begun to dish out orders. She'd slumped the unconscious form of Aogami Pierce over her shoulder, like the pelt of some great beast, and got the trio of Fukiyose Seiri, Himegami Aisa, and "Olivia" on their way; it looked like it was going to be another class of laps. Their classmates had already begun doing so.

"Kamijou," Aiho spoke, addressing the odd one out. He hadn't moved an inch. "It's good to see you back in your classes again. Worried words have been circulating involving you. Is… everything alright? You can talk to me. I might only see you one period a day, but you're still my student, and, therefore, I still care about you."

" _Fun times. You're involved with "him", the "top dog" in this City, you know fucked up better than a lot of people, don't you? You'd probably be one of the few people who really would understand. Thinking about it, "he'd" probably understand, too. Wonder what he's up to."_

Kamijou Touma raised his arms, and rested them behind the back of his head, as he stretched; even if he didn't need to do so, simply performing the useless action made him feel a little bit more at home amongst dozens of human beings, something he'd once been, but could never again be.

"Just had personal business to take care of, sensei. Took a little bit more time than I thought it was going to, and, well… here we are. That's all she wrote. Didn't mean to worry anyone, honest."

Apparently satisfied, Yomikawa Aiho nodded. "I'm sure. Now, go on, Kamijou. Sun's a-shining, and your legs seem to be working fine. Get in there and go for gold."

"You got it, sensei."

Kamijou Touma wasn't about to show off. Despite his earlier stunt, he merely acted by turning away from the form of his physical education teacher, and building up momentum from a walk, to a brisk jog. The fact that he'd neglected to change into proper attire apparently wasn't an issue; perhaps he was simply being let off the hook?

For a while, everything was going along well enough. Initially, Touma sought out familiar faces amongst the crowds of students jogging laps around the middle-high school's field. He first searched for the form of his senpai, but couldn't seem to find her. Secondly, her sought out, and eventually managed to identify the trademark headband of the Jumpy Bunny, Keshouin Asuka. She looked like she was about to collapse, and her physical education uniform's shirt was plastered with sweat.

It was when Kamijou Touma passed by a chain link fence, separating the grassy field from the public street and walkways beyond that everything went to Hell.

Zeeee, nunununuuu.

Touma stumbled and fell unceremoniously, his right and left legs breaking apart, as the nanorobots that composed the limbs sought out the fence's surfaces, rushing towards them as if they were being reunited with a long-lost lover.

All eyes that could've been were upon him. He could already hear the loud, shrieking whistle being blown by Yomikawa Aiho, who was rushing towards his form, feet slapping against the grass. He flopped, helplessly, like a fish out of water, struggling on a dock.

" _Fuuuuccckkkk. Fuck, fuck, FUCK. SUCH. FUCKING. MISFORTUNE. Just kill me now."_


	5. Jump

If only he could pull himself just a few feet farther from that damned no-good chain link fence that seemed hellbent on ensnaring him like some beast caught in the jaws of a hunter's trap. If only he could suddenly and conveniently gain mastery over his superior form, even for just a moment.

He could both hear and feel clusters of the nanorobots that were rushing towards the fence, wrapping around it and molesting it for no good reason that he could come up with.

Kamijou Touma's digits had penetrated the soft, green grass, and were dug into the earth as his arms pulled his torso, both its upper and what remained of its lower portions forward. As if to fight against him, more of Touma's nanorobots began to rush towards the fence, causing his lower torso to perpetually dissipate.

Some of those within the crowd that'd jogged about the edges of the middle-high school's field were running towards him, both male and female alike. The repeated, high-pitched shrieks of Yomikawa Aiho's whistle would've driven him to the brink of insanity if he'd still been a lesser existence.

Then again, if Touma had still been a lesser existence he wouldn't have found himself in a predicament like this one; maybe something similar, but nothing quite like this.

Two unfamiliar faces, both male, and two familiar faces, both female, as well as the bodies to which they were attached had rushed to his side. Before him, Othinus knelt, pulling him forward, as her heart slammed within her, beating far quicker than it should've been. Himegami Aisa had taken to the opposite side of him, and was yanking on his left arm with the greatest force that she could possibly apply; the vaguely metallic coldness of Touma's form sent an unusual shiver down the gemstone's spine.

"Did Kamijou get an ability? What's going on?"

"Shut up, Honda! Not the time! Help him or something!"

"Silence, both of you foolish huma- f-fools! Cease your bickering and put whatever talents you have to use! Help pull him forward!"

Once Yomikawa Aiho had arrived, having left Aogami Pierce behind to slumber peacefully in the grass, the quartet that'd formed around the form of Kamijou Touma was forcibly dispersed, under threat of being smacked around by Aiho's water canister.

The physical education teacher and Anti Skill operative fell to one knee, looking down at the half-existent form of Kamijou Touma who was still struggling to pull himself forward. Looking up, Aiho quietly examined the trail of grey-colored mist that spread outwards from the point where his upper and lower torso would've been separated by his pelvis. To say that Aiho was puzzled would be a grand understatement.

"Yomikawa-sensei. Can I ask you for a favor?"

"Let's hear it, Kamijou."

Student and teacher locked eyes, in a tension-filled moment; the tension in the air was thick enough to be cut with a knife, and laid between two slices of bread. It would've been a meal that Othinus wouldn't have served to even her worst, most deeply hated enemy.

"Grab my arms, and just pull me along. My legs will come back eventually. I'm developing an ability, and it kind of goes haywire sometimes; cellular division, see. Not too sure why the cells turn grey. Maybe that's just what cells look like outside of the human body? Just give me a hand, please."

"Uh huh… fine, Kamijou. Let's get you going."

Yomikawa Aiho grasped onto her student's wrists, and began to pull Kamijou Touma along, like he was a sack of grains being hauled off to market.

His flesh was cold to the touch, like the interior surfaces of a freezer, and it didn't seem to become any warmer, even as Aiho's grip on either of his hands tightened. He was oddly light, as if he weighed less than a hundred pounds. Last Order's biologically eight-year-old form must've been heavier.

Zeeee, nunununuuu.

The odd, vaguely mechanical sound, apparently produced by the student she was dragging behind her caused Yomikawa Aiho's heart to suddenly leap into her throat; Aiho could instinctually detect that something was very, very wrong with the picture presented before, or in this case, behind her.

Slipping away from his teacher's, Touma's own hands fell from his psychical education teacher's hands and to the grass-covered earth beneath him from which he rose, his lower torso and legs having apparently fully reformed. Trails of grey-colored mist continued to both swirl around, and into him for some moments, until they finally ceased to be, as if his form was some black hole.

For a few more moments, Yomikawa Aiho simply looked at her student, with a puzzled facial expression; her student's own expression seemed to be just as, if not more puzzled.

While the two young men who'd rushed to Touma's side had taken their leave, and returned to the perpetually-jogging herd, "Olivia" and Himegami Aisa remained, both looking on, concern evident in their own respective expressions. They looked to one another and then to Kamijou Touma.

Aiho found herself in something of a bind. What, exactly, was she supposed to do; not only as a teacher, but as someone who considered herself to be a decent person? Cellular division didn't function in such a way, nor could it occur at such a rapid and extreme pace, at least not in the body of the species homo sapiens.

Kamijou was lying. Her student was clearly lying, Aiho could tell that much; but what did he have to hide? What was there to lie about, even? Was this somehow linked to his month-long and completely unexplained absence? Almost certainly, Aiho was suddenly very sure of it.

Finally, the physical education teacher and Anti Skill operative's lips and tongue began to form words, as her higher mind snapped into action. "Kamijou… go take a breather. Keep an eye on your friend, or find something else to do with yourself until class is dismissed. I'll… write you up as having taken sick."

In response, Touma shrugged indifferently. The boy seemed oddly alien, and unnervingly distant to Aiho, who could only raise an eyebrow at his antics, or, more appropriately, the lack thereof.

"Olivia" and Himegami Aisa had only just finished exchanging hushed words; the latter took her leave, while the former joined her "relative", taking to his side and looking up at him as he began to take his own leave. Their teacher seemed to have no gripes with this; alternatively, she could've been too deeply involved in her own thoughts to notice such a detail.

Nonchalantly turning his back to his physical education teacher, Kamijou Touma stuffed either of his hands into his pockets, and quietly began to walk, with "Olivia" in tow.

"Imagine Breaker."

Othinus' tone of voice was stern, like that of a mother gently disciplining her wayward child.

Kamijou Touma wasn't going to ignore the girl who was, if age was taken into account, more of a woman or maybe something beyond a mere "woman".

She was just barely, and still wanted to be his Understander, even if such a thing no longer seemed possible to him. Touma could only feel "bad", as an influx of data referred to the feeling, which he permitted to step into his plane of existence.

"Othinus? Othi-chan?"

The former Magic God tossed her hair's fringe, and its silky, smooth-looking bangs away from her eyes, as she continued to look at the one being who truly Understood her.

"Can you not set aside your irritatingly cryptic business to talk with the nun and myself? Has this… insanity not become a great and negative driving force in your life? Let others help shoulder your burdens, you unfathomably stubborn human. Have you learned _nothing_?"

"If you don't stop smack-talking me, I'm going to tell on you, Othi-chan. I can't cancel what I've got going on, I just can't; it doesn't work like that, and I can't let it work like that. Sorry. I have my reasons, but I promise that you'll… you'll Understand again soon."

Kamijou Touma's words brought hope to the heart of the former Magic God, the being who he'd saved from herself.

Othinus reached out and grabbed at it, pulling hope close to her, and keeping it alive within her higher mind.

Having closed the distance between himself and the prone, unconscious form of Aogami Pierce, Touma threw himself down next to the blue-haired boy, and jabbed the boy's cheek with his right hand's index finger.

The blue-haired boy mumbled something about "beautiful Olivia-chan" in response, rolling to his left and protectively wrapping his arms around nothing save the air.

"I hope he dies," Othinus remarked. "In a fire. I too hope you come to your senses, sooner than later, Imagine Breaker. I'll be ready and willing to hear you out, when you finally, and inevitably do."

Huffing, she aggressively tossed her head back, and returned to the perpetually-jogging herd, slowly working herself from a brisk walk and into a jog, at her own pace; there was still mingling to be done, after all.

Eventually, Aogami Pierce did awaken from his deep, all-consuming slumber, and, in the end, he'd abandoned his fellow Delta Force member to pursue the "girl" he'd apparently begun referring to as "the love of my life".

What time remained in the school day's final period slowly passed Kamijou Touma by, as he watched his classmates and fellow students from other classes make their rounds around the field. The chain link fence stared back mockingly for a while, until Touma's silent conversations with his own influxes of seemingly omniscient data were interrupted.

"Oh, my! What are you doing sitting over here all by yourself, Touma? How unexpected. Did something happen, my little kohai? You're not hurt, are you?"

Sanctuary had sought Kamijou Touma out for one last tender moment, before it'd all inevitably go to Hell.

The being that'd once been a "normal high school boy" craned his neck, his lips having curled upwards, into a thin, but warm smile.

Having stepped through the doorway that lead into the middle-high school's halls, Kumokawa Seria made her way towards Touma. She, like her kohai, wasn't clad in any sort of physical education uniform.

"Hey, Seria. It's really good to see you again. All cleaned up?"

Kamijou Touma's smile turned into a toothy, almost sinister grin, as he knowingly winked.

"What a shame. Would you mind if we began round two? They always say that the sequel isn't as good, but hey, what can I say in my defense? I like to change up the norm."

"You're about to cause me to soak myself again with that newfound assertiveness of yours. Hush, now," Seria remarked, teasingly. "By the way, Touma, before I say another word, I have to ask; what's with the pervert?"

Touma reluctantly turned his gaze away from his jaw-droppingly gorgeous senpai, and towards the perpetually-jogging herd before him. He didn't even have to single Aogami Pierce's form out; the boy's blue hair stuck out from the crowd like a sore thumb. Picking himself up from the grass, streaks of crimson were dripping down from either of his nostrils, and down his cheeks. In the center of his face, a bright red handprint was visible.

Apparently, the blue-haired boy had noticed that his fellow Delta Force member was staring him down, and noticed that the third member of the Delta Force wasn't alone. Aogami Pierce shook his fist angrily in Kamijou Touma's direction.

"Damn you, Kami-yan! Damn you to Hell! I HATE YOU! You can't take Beauty-Senpai from us!"

"Looks like Olivia-chan got sick of his shit," Touma casually remarked. "I'm not far from being there myself. Don't blame her for smacking him up. I'd intervene, but I think it's important that she learns to deal with this sort of thing herself. Besides, she's a big girl. She doesn't need her relative to stick up for her. Never was the type to run behind someone's back and squeal "help me!" either way."

Kneeling behind her kohai, Kumokawa Seria rested the palms of either of her hands against his shoulders, and gently rubbed them, as she leaned forward.

"You don't have to explain yourself to me, my little kohai. Even if there was some perceived injustice in this situation, which there isn't – you're completely correct – I wouldn't yell at you or berate you for taking a stance of your own choosing. You're on edge, aren't you? You're under a lot of pressure. Your defensiveness just screams it to me."

Touma wasn't going to deny it, at least not when he found himself in a situation like the one in which he'd happened to have found himself in.

Kamijou Touma was safe with this woman, he could rely on her to act as a pillar of support, as a rational, stable individual in a world of individuals who were slowly becoming anything but rational, and anything but stable.

"You could say that, senpai… I mean, Seria. Got to get used to that. There's a lot of shit, and I do mean shit, going down around me, and, even being what I am now, whatever that might be, or might not be, it's weighing down on me bad. I'm surrounded by fucking lunatics who can barely keep their heads on straight, a power-hungry borderline megalomaniac… no, I didn't mean that. So much shit that I could never tell you about; you wouldn't believe me, even if I did."

Leaning further inwards, Kumokawa Seria craned her neck to her right, and looked at the face of her kohai, Kamijou Touma, with her lips having curled into a warm smile.

"I've completed all of the assignments that were… handed off to me, in my own health studies class, a series of paltry tasks, if I'm being honest. If you aren't going to be heading back into the fray, for reasons I'm not quite aware of but have a few theories about, would you like me to stay with you?"

Kamijou Touma, son of Kamijou Touya, a mild-mannered and complacent man himself, made quite the bold move.

Craning his own neck, he pressed his cold lips against the lips of his senpai, who quietly gasped as shock registered throughout her entire body. By itself, Seria's body ensured that her lips returned her kohai's kiss. Her brain began ordering for the pumping of relevant chemicals, and, just as his lips left hers, Seria's form shuddered.

"I definitely wouldn't mind if you decided to stick it out with me, Beauty-Senpai. You enjoy that? I did. You've got really soft lips. I hope I didn't come onto you too fast; you were right there."

"N-no," Seria stammered, quickly folding her legs beneath her posterior, as she sat herself next to her assertive, and sudden alpha male of a kohai.

"Not at all. I enjoyed 'that' very much, and I can safely say that I encourage you to do so again in the near future. Your own lips taste… different, but by no means is it a bad taste. It's something I could find myself getting used to, actually."

Grinning at his senpai, Kamijou Touma winked, and wrapped his right arm around her shoulder, in an act that shocked Seria a little bit less than it would've prior to her meeting with this "new" little kohai of hers.

Touma pulled Seria close to him, and watched on, as he quickly became the ire of every young man jogging in the field. Nuzzling him in response, Seria pushed herself closer to her kohai.

The feeling was a satisfying one. Kumokawa Seria was enjoying the attention herself, as she rested the side of her head against her kohai's shoulder, watching on with a grin of her own.

"They're all very jealous of you, my little kohai. Rightfully so. Word might start to spread that we're an item, you know. Word might even spread beyond the boundaries of this school. Wouldn't that just be regrettable?"

Before, when he'd been less, a statement like that would've brought a terrible sense of dread down upon Kamijou Touma, and likely would've triggered an embarrassing fight or flight reaction; inevitably, as his "old" existence always had in such situations, he more than likely would've chosen "flight".

What a pathetic joke his "old" existence had been. So weak, so frail. All he'd had was the anomalous force that'd once resided within his right hand, and nothing more to his name.

No longer. Kamijou Touma feared nothing, and no one. No longer was he a frail and pathetic thing. Again, he found himself almost thanking the partially-rotten old man.

"You think?" Touma rhetorically inquired. "I guess it's true that stranger, and stupider rumors have taken off and gotten pretty far."

For some time, the two, Kumokawa Seria and Kamijou Touma engaged in small talk, discussing matters such as current events, other rumors unrelated to those that could potentially fly due to their newfound closeness, and just about anything but the past, a subject which both parties involved seemed to be happy to avoid. The topic of the Internet inevitably came up, and, through it, Kamijou Touma learned that Kumokawa Seria was an avid fan of video games, and of "superior PC gaming", nonetheless.

Just as Touma was about to begin casually and cryptically inquiring as to which establishments his senpai frequented, and which types of dishes she was most fond of, the shrieking of Yomikawa Aiho's whistle rang out loud and clear, like the cry of a rooster suffering from some type of chronic bronchial infection.

The voices of students engaging in casual conversation slowly ceased to be as the perpetually-jogging herd came to a stop; at the back of the herd, an exhausted Aogami Pierce, his face covered in bright red handprints of different sizes dropped to the ground, relieved.

"Not bad!" Aiho exclaimed, her right hand rested upon its corresponding hip. In her left, her whistle was clutched.

"Not bad. Next time, less chatting, more running. That's it, dinger's going to go off in a few minutes. Get yourselves into a line, in front of the doors and wait it out. This one's an exercise for your minds."

Turning her attention to Kamijou Touma, and Kumokawa Seria, who'd apparently decided to drop in, much to the physical education teacher's surprise, Aiho spoke.

"That means you too, lovebirds. Kumokawa, beat it; back to your own class. Kamijou's supposed to be resting up, not spending all of his energy being all lovey-dovey."

Kumokawa Seria pouted, as she looked away from the cold boy whose arm remained around her shoulders, and towards the physical education teacher. Seria tilted her head to one side.

"Maybe I'll just have to transfer to Kamijou's class. Then you and I can be together forever, right Yomikawa-sensei?"

"You're too old, Kumokawa. You're going to be graduating soon."

If anyone other than Yomikawa Aiho had called Kumokawa Seria "old", there would've been Hell to pay.

"Oh, dear, Yomikawa-sensei; how scornful. You sound just like someone else I know. I suppose I'll have to take my leave, then."

After placing a soft, gentle kiss on the cheek of her kohai, Seria wriggled herself out of Touma's embrace, and rose, dusting the bottom of her skirt off, and tossing her bangs away from her eyes. Touma imitated his senpai, and rose as well, becoming the first student in the line that was set to form.

Taking her leave, seductively swaying her hips from side to side, Seria remarked, "I'll see you soon, my little kohai. I'll be greatly looking forward to our liaison."

He didn't have any good reason to deny it. "Me too, senpai. Me too. I'll hit you up on Messenger tonight?"

"Please doooo."

Yomikawa Aiho had taken to her student's side, both of her hands resting casually in her sweatpants' pockets, her whistle dangling around her neck by the band to which it was strung. Her facial expression was a stern one.

"Kamijou, for the love of… use protection. The Child Error problem is only getting worse, and we don't need your contributions. If only Tsukuyomi could actually teach sexual education, you lot might learn something."

Sneering, Kamijou Touma looked to his physical education teacher, and nodded. "You misjudge my intentions Yomikawa-sensei, I'm a nice guy."

Eventually, a loud, shrill sound was played over the loudspeakers scattered throughout the field, and within the halls of the middle-high school, announcing that the school day had come to an end.

As Yomikawa Aiho took her leave from her student's side, "Olivia" took his teacher's place. Touma looked to her, and, as they walked together, he rested his right hand's palm on her shoulder.

"Olivia-chan," Touma began, "don't wait for me. I'm going to be heading out, pretty much right now, so I'll be home later tonight. Dinner for Index is in the fridge, she knows where it is, and there's yen on the table if she wants to order more, or if you want more. Take care of yourself, alright? I love you."

Wrapping her arms around her "relative's" waist as the two moved to the side, towards a row of lockers, "Olivia" breathed a sigh of defeat. Her grip tightened by the second, and she whispered under her breath.

"Imagine Breaker, I love you too. Let me Understand you again soon. I cast my own pride to the side and I beg you; please let me Understand you again. I want nothing more than to Understand you again."

Male passersby found themselves feeling a bit less jealous than they had previously; Kamijou Touma and "Olivia-chan" were relatives. Obviously, there was nothing romantic between the two.

"I promise, Othi-chan," Touma whispered back. Moving in slowly, as if he was afraid that he would frighten her, Touma placed a kiss atop the crown of the former Magic God's head, and patted her back, as softly as he could manage to.

"I promise, you'll hear everything, the whole truth, as soon as I get a spare couple of hours. I'm not doing this to hurt you; that's the last thing I'd ever want to do.

"In fact, the reason I've been keeping everything from you and Index, is, well… there's a lot of shit going on with me, and it's dangerous to even talk about; but if you want the truth, it's not right for me to keep it from you, even if I think that I should.

"I can protect you both, I can protect everyone better than I ever could before, now that I'm stronger… different, but that's not the issue, see? The issue is: I don't know what _they're_ capable of. If word gets out, and _they_ decide that I need to be "disciplined", I just don't know what they'd try and do.

"Listen, I can't be late. I can't let them think that something, some part of their status quo is changing. They need to think that everything's going per their plan, whatever that might be, so they can't figure out that I'm fucking them over and using them."

The former Magic God nodded in relative understanding. It was a weak gesture, one of defeat, but, it was also one of acknowledgement; Othinus was going to hold her Understander to his word.

Reluctantly parting from her "relative", "Olivia" took Touma's hands into her own, and looked into his eyes, for a few moments, before she spoke her parting words.

"I'll see you… at some point, Imagine Breaker, and I'll be looking forward to it. The nun has been missing you, and I'll be missing you."

"I miss you too, Othi-chan. I miss you too, both of you, even that annoying cat. I miss you guys a lot."

The former Magic God offered her Understander a warm, if thin smile, and then turned away, making her way down the hall, her long, golden hair swaying from one side to the other, the sounds of her flats' soles clacking against the tiled floor. Heads turned to face her; the being that had once been a "normal high school boy" couldn't deny the fact that she was exotic, beautiful in a way that couldn't possibly be replicated, be it by science or magic.

For a short while, Kamijou Touma watched his "relative" walk, until she turned a corner, vanishing from his line of sight; he thought for a split second that her organic left eye glistened beneath the synthetic light, beamed down from the ceiling above.

He then decided to take his own leave; unlike his "relative", however, he had nothing to gather, and no one to seek out. He simply followed his internal compass, walking in the vague direction of the middle-high school's entranceway, arguably the quickest means of leaving the property.

Passing down hallways, with rows of lockers, some attended to, others locked and left vacant on either side of him, Kamijou Touma kept to himself; he hardly had a reason not to.

While he recognized the faces of most of his fellow students that he passed by, he couldn't quite put any names to their faces. Some nodded in his direction, and he would respectfully nod back. That would be the extent of his interactions with those he could physically recognize.

Touma passed by the entranceway doors that lead into the almost laughably small interior gymnasium, and then by those that lead into the equally laughably small cafeteria. At the very least the middle-high school's cafeteria was leagues ahead of the cafeteria that'd been found in the old high school.

Finally, after what felt like a lifetime of walking, Touma had made his way to the entranceway doors, which lead out of the middle-high school. Beams of warm, golden sunlight were intruding through the cracks between the doors, and between the doors and the tiled floors, creating odd-looking patterns and a series of crisscrossing golden lines.

Touma took one final step forward, and with his right arm extended, he pushed the nearest of the entranceway doors open, causing its hinges to creak loudly in protest.

The golden rays of natural light that'd been invading the middle-high school doused him like streams of water from a waterfall; it was a nice feeling, one which brought not only warmth, but a familiar sense of positivity that he could almost reach out and touch.

Touma's lips curled upwards, into a small grin. Considering recent events, Kamijou Touma had learned to appreciate the little things.

As always, something was there to shock him out of the moment. Touma raised an eyebrow once he laid eyes on the anomalous presence standing some fifteen feet and eight inches – an internal influx of data informed Touma of the exact distance between himself and the anomalous presence – away from him. He'd seen this anomaly before at some point; it was something from his past, from when he'd been something less.

It was a girl, or in more technical terms, a woman; she seemed old enough to be classed as the latter, as opposed to the former. She was physically sexually matured, at the very least. With her arms folded beneath her bosom, she stood tall, leaning against a nearby planter.

As Touma's vision fell in line with her own form, her eyes, and their auburn-colored irises looked into Touma's own, curiosity alive and well within them.

The girl's hair was auburn, almost dark red in coloration, like the color of her irises, styled into two long, straightened twintails. She was clad in a blue, formally designed school uniform with the emblem of some educational facility unknown to Touma sewed onto its breast. The twintails girl seemed to have purposefully exposed a few inches of cleavage. She wore white thigh high stockings, which clung tightly to her impressive legs.

Nodding in his direction, the twintails girl smirked at him, her eyelids narrowing for the shortest of moments.

"Kami-yan?" It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I assume you're wondering who I am. We've met more than once in the past, albeit quite briefly."

He only had to look upon the form of the twintails girl for a few moments before an entire profile, based on what information he had previously gathered on her formed before his vision. Data which had previously remained invisible took physical form within him, as individual nanorobots broke away from Touma's main mass, and began gathering further information from beyond Touma's existence.

" _NAME: AWAKI, MUSUJIME_

_GENDER: [genital recognition = ENABLED] FEMALE_

_HEIGHT: 150 CM [4 FEET NINE INCHES]_

_WEIGHT: 2080 OZ [130 POUNDS]_

_AGE: [facial recognition = ENABLED] SIXTEEN YEARS [SUITABLE FOR COITUS]_

_BLOOD TYPE: AB [bodily fluid recognition = ENABLED] [COMMON]"_

Touma began to make his way down the staircase, which lead downwards, towards the planter which the twintails girl leaned against.

"Musujime-san," Touma remarked, casually.

If the change in her facial expression was anything to go by, the twintails girl was seemingly surprised, as her lips parted, slightly; as well, both of her eyebrows had risen. What had come to pass was something that she obviously hadn't expected.

Musujime Awaki quickly regained her composure. Tossing her head back, as if daring Kamijou Touma to challenge her, she pushed herself away from the planter, standing tall, and proud, with her arms remaining crossed.

"So, you do remember me after all; that's interesting. I certainly remember you. I'll cut to the chase; you've caught my eye. You displayed an… interesting capability this morning, and you obviously aren't trying to hide it. I'd like to know a little bit more about the abilities of the oh mighty heeee-ro "Kami-yan". Speaking of which, that isn't your real name, is it? Some type of codename?"

Rolling his shoulders, Touma clicked his tongue. There were only two individuals who Musujime Awaki could've gotten that name from. Only one of those two individuals seemed to be the likely source; any respectable member of the opposite gender avoided "BLAU" like he was the plague itself, and rightfully so.

"You're involved with him, huh? Let me give you a useful piece of information, Musujime-san; don't be. Tsuchimikado's a fucking snake, he'll throw you under the bus in a minute if it suits him."

" _I'd slit his throat wide open myself, like the belly of a swine, if it wouldn't bring a truckload of shit down on me."_

"I'm not disagreeing," Awaki admitted, less than reluctantly. "He's a snake with a slithering forked tongue, but he has his uses."

As Kamijou Touma kept on walking, Musujime Awaki fell in stride with him; he didn't protest this, but merely accepted her presence, for the time being. Awaki wasn't annoying him, she seemed to have her head on straight, and she seemed to be rational enough.

"Not only that, he's also a disgusting pervert, even worse than the lolicon."

As Awaki spoke, Touma's eyes were subtly moving up and down inside of his head, looking the Move Point user's form up and down. He listened intently to her words, of course; he allowed himself to compliment his own newfound skill at seamless multitasking.

Everything about Musujime Awaki seemed to be on point; her bosom wasn't absurdly large, nor was it too small. From what Touma could see, they were just a nice size. Her voice was soft and oddly soothing, for someone who'd previously caused considerable destruction. Her form was athletic and fit with a curvy shape; if Touma tried to tell himself that he _didn't_ want to part her stocking-clad legs and thrust into her for a few hours, he'd be a liar. The only odd presence on Musujime Awaki's form was the small mechanical apparatus that rested upon her neck.

Kamijou Touma didn't find himself in a position to be critical about such a thing.

"If it's got anything to do with that snake, I know better than to ask," Touma spat. "It's nothing I want to know about. So, before we go any further, Musujime-san, let me just repeat this back to you, to ensure that we're on the same page.

"You want me to show you my ability? It's new, so I don't quite know what I'm doing all of the time, but, I can pull off a few interesting tricks with it. That's all? You're not going to follow me around for the next few weeks of my life, constantly demanding that I pulverize you?"

"No. Why would I do that? I would literally have no reason to do something of the sort."

"Just have to be sure… forget it. I've got some unfinished business to settle with someone, and it's leaking out all over the place. I didn't mean that, sorry Musujime-san. You've caught me a weird-ass time. Don't worry about it, strange things happen to me; it's just, at this point I like to try and figure out exactly what I'm getting myself into before I get into it."

Kamijou Touma came to a halt in the middle of the walkway, and stretched, bending himself backwards as he held either of his arms above his head. Nothing was accomplished through this act; it was something familiar, something human.

"I'll show you, then. By the way, before I go – and I do have to go – it's been good seeing you again, Musujime-san. It really has been a while since we last saw one another. I remember the last time we did, if you could really call that "seeing". I was in some situation, drunk as a skunk; you and… must've been friends of yours? We crossed paths for a bit."

Awaki nodded; she recalled that evening, as well. "You seemed oddly rushed, just as you seem now, "Kami-yan". I really don't want to keep calling you that. Surely that isn't your name. Please tell me you're not actually named "Kami-yan". I have no reason to think so, it outright soundslike something that perverted idiot came up with while hunched over a box of tissues."

"Seems like you don't like the snake any more than I do," Touma casually remarked. "We'll get along well then. No, I'm not really named "Kami-yan". It's just a stupid nickname, or something. Not entirely sure how it came about, myself. It was something he started babbling about, and it stuck. Kamijou Touma, that's my real name."

Again, the Move Point user nodded, apparently in approval. _Kamijou Touma_. It was a different name, that much was certain; but it seemed to figuratively roll off Awaki's proverbial tongue.

With that, Kamijou Touma took a step forward. The boy that Musujime Awaki had first met during the period of time in which the remnant of the supercomputer known as Tree Diagram and that half-assed teleporter were relevant subjects proved himself to be anything but "just some boy".

Working in unison, billions upon billions of nanorobots obeyed the commands of Touma's consciousness. Like greased lightning he bolted off, his arms and legs moving at speeds far beyond human, beyond Awaki's comprehension, even; he'd become more of a grey-colored blur.

The Move Point user had to silently ask herself one question: why grey?

"Kamijou Touma" was clad in a uniform that was dark blue in coloration. Even if his hair was black, that was only a small portion of his form. If anything, the blur should've been a mix of blue and fleshy pink, the pigmentation of his skin.

Why was the boy always in such a rush, always running off somewhere to do something? Why had he even involved himself in business that hadn't been his all that time ago, that really wasn't all that long ago at all? He was unfathomable, he made Musujime Awaki's head spin.

Musujime Awaki wanted answers; she wanted closure, and she wanted it as soon as humanly possible. He'd given her his name. He was apparently comfortable enough with doing that. It was a step in the right direction, and a step forward at that.

The possibility of following the trail of damaged walkways and mildly disturbed passersby left in his wake was one which floated about within Awaki's higher mind, like a sailboat tossed about on some particularly cruel waves.

She hadn't minded the way he'd been looking her up and down, either. Having a decent human being ogle her incredibly attractive body was a breath of fresh air; Kamijou Touma was a looker himself.

Awaki's decision was made, in the span of a few seconds of thought. Spinning on her heel, Musujime Awaki cocked her head from side to side, causing her bones to crack as she walked in the direction opposite of the direction in which Kamijou Touma had bolted off in.

 _Kamijou Touma_. That was a name Awaki was going to have to keep in the front of her mind.

By the time he'd arrived in school district ten, Kamijou Touma had left quite the trail behind. Not counting the destroyed walkways, he'd leapt to, and then from numerous structures, whether they'd been restaurants or skyscrapers, and had managed to gain more than a few moments of attention, from those both within and outside said establishments.

Though the structures had remained undamaged, unlike the walkways beneath them, the individuals within who'd witnessed some unidentifiable existence whip by their windows would have plenty to talk about.

With the tenth school district's urban decay surrounding him, Touma made his way down the twisting, winding side streets and vacant roadways, occasionally passing by individuals in far worse predicaments than his own scattered throughout the former, and passing by only material waste, such as the tattered remnants of newspapers – which were apparently still printed in Academy City – throughout the latter.

One structure was being sought out by the being that'd once been a "normal high school boy". He'd arrived before it, with some ten minutes to spare, passing by an unused public transportation terminal as he neared it.

Unlike most structures in the derelict school district, the structure that was Touma's destination found itself in an acceptable outward condition.

The metallic substance of which its outer walls were constructed wasn't completely covered in rust, nor were the structure's outer walls heavily defaced.

Tall, but not as tall as some of the high rises in the tenth school district, Kamijou Touma's quarry was approximately twenty-eight stories tall. It had no signs on its lawn, and there were no features on its outer surfaces that indicated that this structure was being used by any official group.

Touma knew that it wasn't being used by any 'official' group, far from it.

Surrounding the structure, tiny objects had piled up and had formed mounds of considerable height and width; though normally microscopic, the objects that made up the mounds were so numerous that, as a collective entity, they'd become visible to the naked eye. The occasional "zap", a sound without a visual source would ring out and more objects would join their fallen brethren.

Ejected nanorobotic scouts had informed Kamijou Touma in the past that these objects were, in fact, individual instances of a security network known as "UNDER_LINE". The significance of this "UNDER_LINE" was unknown, but Kamijou Touma had a few theories that could explain the objects' existence. Evidently, some sort of invisible and arguably lethal force had been erected, preventing instances of UNDER_LINE from closing in on the structure.

Casually, Touma made his way to the structure's rear, evading the frontal entranceway doors, which he knew didn't, and never had functioned. He strolled down a cobbled path, overgrown with strands of emerald green grass, and the protruding weeds that fought against said grass; a valiant but visibly futile effort.

In the structure's rear, where numerous metallic benches and picnicking tables, their surfaces sullied by rust were located, there were more mounds of UNDER_LINE instances, the mounds they'd created through their collective 'deaths' even larger than those scattered about the front of the structure. The structure's rear was mostly overgrown with a small field of grass whose individual blades rose to Touma's knees.

Staying to himself, an older man in casual, if dirtied attire mulled about the structure's rear, scooping the "dead" objects up with a shovel, and dumping them into a large metallic vat, which had a quartet of small wheels beneath it.

The rear entranceway wasn't directly connected to the structure itself. Instead, its doors were in the ground, facing upwards towards the sky above. Constructed of a metallic substance, and a dark shade of brown in coloration due to the multiple layers of rust that covered them, the doors in the ground shifted into the ground itself, pulled inwards by a series of dutifully-working mechanical limbs. They groaned and complained, but moved nonetheless.

As the older man in the structure's rear continued about his business, Kamijou Touma descended into the earth itself, casually making his way down a flight of stairs.

Once the doors above had slammed shut behind him, well and truly sealing him within the earth, a series of ceiling-mounted panels were automatically enabled and bathed Touma, as well as the damp, claustrophobic tunnel through which he walked in dirty synthetic light.

Kamijou Touma's stroll through what looked like the set of some horror film was less than eventful. Through the winding underground bowels of the structure Touma traversed, at one point encountering a dead and half-eaten cat in the mouldering corner of a dead end.

With the light generated by the panels above him flickering, Touma came upon his destination; another, different staircase than the one he'd originally descended. Rather than being constructed from stone material, the staircase, Kamijou Touma's destination was constructed of some metallic substance, pocked by layers of rust, as all metallic surfaces within the structure's bowels seemed to be.

Ascending the staircase, another set of doors facing upwards as the previous set had slid open, granting Touma access to what may as well have been Hell itself. The staircase, creaking and shuddering beneath Kamijou Touma's every step lead him into a barely-furnished and sterile space.

Enclosed and without even a single window to act as a portal to the outside world, the enclosed space was a dull, simplistic silver in coloration. Its furnishings, which included several plastic seats leaning against the rightmost wall were aged, and looked like they hadn't seen any kind of cleaning in a decade, or perhaps two. One of these plastic seats was missing a leg, and was perpetually wobbling quite awkwardly.

Aside from Kamijou Touma, there were no other living beings within the enclosed space. By the sounds of it, however, there was less than intelligent life just beyond the silver-colored set of doors, to Touma's left.

"You didn't have to apply the voltage spike! We had a revival kit RIGHT THERE! What were you THINKING?!"

"STOP yelling at me! How was I supposed to know she had a heart condition?! We weren't informed about anything! The whole operation was a FARCE!"

The first speaker, "the critic" was apparently male, or perhaps a female with an unnaturally deep voice. The second speaker, "the victim" was apparently female, or alternatively, a male with an unusually high-pitched voice.

Regardless of their respective biological natures, Kamijou Touma had only heard their bickering for some few seconds, and was already fed up.

Stepping through the doorway, as the door itself slid away into right side of the wall, Touma emerged from the enclosed space, and into another equally enclosed, and equally sterile hall, where the two verbal combatants were present, standing before two sets of elevator doors, both of which were closed. Between the set, one of two small, circular buttons was illuminated, brightly glowing a shade of orange.

Kamijou Touma spoke, his lips curling upwards into a smirk as they smacked together, working in unison with his tongue to form words.

"Ladies, ladies! What's the matter?! You sound like you're about to start splitting the furniture and the kids! Come on, we need some universal love here. Also, your bickering is getting on my fucking nerves, so knock it off or I'll _really_ give you something to cry about. Do we understand one another?"

"Y-yes, K-Kamijou-san."

Satisfaction surged through the being who'd once been a "normal high school boy". The scruffy, bearded man who stood before his female cohort suddenly shut his trap, and turned away, stuffing either of his hands into his pockets. Clad in a cheap-looking doctor's smock accented by casual attire beneath it, he looked to the cold tiled floor beneath his feet.

His companion, a young woman who looked to be in her mid twenties possessed curly, tawny hair, tied up into a messy bun. Adorned in similar attire silenced herself as well, her line of vision aligning with the elevator doors that stood before her.

Kamijou Touma walked on, with his own hands placed into his pockets; there didn't seem to be anything better to do with them. He certainly wasn't laying in his bed, with his Beauty-Senpai at his side, nor was he spending time with the being who'd come to truly Understand him and the nun to whom he'd become so very attached. Until then, his hands would be getting up to far less productive things.

He knew that he would own this place, someday. Kamijou Touma's grip was tightening with every day that passed, with every inch his influence expanded throughout the structure's disgustingly sterile halls.


	6. The Pain and the Agony

February 7th, 2004. 4:08 PM.

Like some great obelisk born of an ancient civilization's many labors, a magnificent, windowless tower rose in the center of Academy City's seventh school district. Its surfaces danced with a series of soft shades, hues of light purple being noticeable, clashing with the milky-colored portions of the tower's exterior. It glowed beneath the warm, golden sunlight, its surfaces sparkling majestically as the solar sea's waves washed over it.

Within this tower, this Windowless Building, however, not all was well.

He floated upside down perpetually, his snow-colored hair flowing around him like so many tendrils from the invisible and functionless maw of an incomprehensible eldritch abomination.

Though a man of many decades, there was an unusual air of youthfulness about him. Though he resembled an angel with his soft, pale skin and his cyan irises, he permeated both positivity and negativity, the forces of both good and evil alike alive within him.

So many great screens, as flat as the palms of his hands floated before him, the wiring of the various contraptions and doodads scattered around his containment system trailing into the darkened walls of the Building's interior.

Though the screens before him continued to function, excepting one which displayed only a mess of static, the man-child floating within a confined ocean of crimson liquid looked to the swimming, portrait-like projection which tore through the very space before him.

The existence on the other side looked to be all too pleased by the small, only partially-noticeable frown Aleister Crowley's lips had curled into.

With skin whose pigmentation was a dark shade of blue, its body was clad from head to toe in dark, heavily plated body armor, exposing only its face. The great existence was seated; its form would've been terrible to behold for a lesser man.

With arms and legs as long and as thick as the mightiest of tree trunks, very broad shoulders and an enormous barrel chest, the existence looked upon Aleister Crowley, the Great Beast 666 with a wide, mocking grin, full of contempt. The existence's shining, lavender-colored irises had locked with Aleister Crowley's own orbs of cyan.

The existence sat upon an ornate metallic throne, with a grand backrest rising high above its form, easily nine feet tall; the backrest itself was some few feet higher, rising above the crown of the existence's head. Floating, the throne didn't appear to utilize any sort of thrusters, nor was the rumbling of engines heard. Dozens of individual weapons, many cannon or otherwise firearm-like in their construction, floated perpetually around this throne, and around the existence seated casually upon it, its right elbow rested casually against its knee.

In the relative darkness of the void behind the existence seated upon its throne, Aleister Crowley watched as debris, likely the remnants of some great comet, floated perpetually, without any real endgame destination.

Aleister's monotonous-sounding voice spoke, even through the liquid that surrounded him; his vocalizations were confident and demanding. When Aleister Crowley spoke, he expected an answer.

"I will ask you only once more to return it to me, Tritonian. Even if it would take time, it would take very little for means of persuasion to be delivered to Neptune's moon. Did you believe it made the journey alone? Hardly."

"That's an issue of politics, human or otherwise; I don't politick. Such matters are dull even by your standards, for those who prefer to distance themselves from carnage and send the young in to die in their place. Politicking is for the cowardly, those who are unable to smile on the battlefield."

"Negotiations can't continue if you continue to behave in this manner, **Abraxas**. All I ask is that you take this matter seriously."

The existence on the other end of the communication line chuckled; the sound emerged more as a loud boom, like the rumbling of thunder than as anything that could be recognizable as laughter, whether mocking or mirthful in nature.

"I take all matters seriously," the existence replied. "All matters excepting you, boy. You are little more than a snivelling, begging child, wailing in a failing attempt to retrieve his stolen source of amusement. You are a being of great importance within your own mind."

In its massive hand, the existence grasped a glowing mass of light. Completely white, like a glob of paint of that same color had been splattered onto a black canvas, the mass of light writhed and struggled, but surrendered as the thick digits extending from the massive hand of the existence closed down on it, threatening to crush it completely. Aleister Crowley would've found himself wincing, if he were a lesser man.

Why the mass didn't simply choose Abraxas as its host and corrode him from the inside out was beyond Aleister Crowley's knowing.

"Our agreement stands, boy, so long as you provide for me what I seek. Where are they? The others? I've scoured this plane from one end to the other and I've found no trace of them, no trace of _her_. Of all the self-proclaimed Beasts in this plane, you should know. In the end, boy, you'll tell me. You'll tell me one way or another. You'll also tell me why I can no longer feel them, why I can no longer feel her warmth."

"Your threats are idle. You cannot break it," Aleister snorted, gesturing towards the mass of light held in the existence's cruel palm. "It is born of you, it is a part of you. You and yours willed it into existence. Your threats are idle, as are your attempts at extortion."

The existence on the other end of the communication line leaned forward, as its throne levitated, slowly drifting closer to the line of communication. The existence's facial features became better visible. Its jaw was enormous; as well, the jaw's lower lip nearly covered the entirety of its adjacent upper lip. Its nose was large, its nostrils flared. Chiseled, like a face carved into stone, the existence's face was the image of nature's taste for brutalist architecture.

"I had no part in creating this… thing. It is born of unbecoming desperation, and I do not know desperation. You don't quite understand what's at stake, do you, boy? Of course, you wouldn't understand. You're colder than the temperature on this wretched moon."

For a moment, its facial features hardened further; its great, stony brow furrowed.

"You have experienced, but I have truly come to terms with existing on the razor's edge, balancing delicately on the fulcrum we know as the mystery called life. I wield power beyond your wildest imagination, yet I find myself incomplete; a gaping void exists in my heart, which no power and no influence over others can fill. Would you deny me of my love?"

Aleister Crowley wasn't about to let the brutal existence live its emotional moment down. Despite its words, desperation was obviously present, the Great Beast 666 could see it alive and well within the existence's eyes.

"Can you truly call yourself "Majin"? Abraxas, your heart throbs and spills toxic emotion. You lack the callousness of your colleagues. It would seem even the indominable Tritonians have… crosses to bear, not all that unfamiliar to those of men."

The moment of tenderness was gone, as the existence's massive lips curled downwards, into a scowl of loathing and contempt.

"Loose lips sink ships, _boy_ ; billions upon billions of Neptuluns and Venusians alike have been written into the pages of extinction by my hand, both civilizations far greater than your own. I have accomplished time and time again what the One-Eyed **bitch** could not even accomplish once. Do not speak to me about… callousness. I would sunder another ten thousand worlds and slaughter billions more for my… my sweetest Mistress, my most beloved Niang-Niang. She would need only ask.

"Unlike you, I, Abraxas, am devoted. Your plans are flawed and easily-thwarted. In my hand, I hold one of its very cornerstones, need I remind you so often? If you care for it so, why would you allow it to drift so far from you? You have grown careless. Conceit has blinded you to reasonable calculation."

Aleister could only shrug. As if to spite the gloating existence before him, Aleister Crowley grinned, mischievously.

Then, he told a lie.

"You call me "boy" in a failing attempt at intimidation, yet your aggression is merely the result of an outward persona. The patchwork of this aggressive persona is weak and poorly sewed. I do not know where your beloved is, Abraxas. She and 'the others' could potentially be anywhere; their newfound freedom may have pushed them to seek out something new. I guarantee you, they're not in this world. To threaten me is fruitless; you'll find nothing. Now, might we continue our diplomatic negotiations?"

The Tritonian, born on Neptune's moon and known as "Abraxas" produced a deep, guttural grunt. With the white, anomalous force clutched in the palm of its massive hand, it raised its arm.

"No. I am through negotiating with you, boy. You will get to have your toy back when I learn of the whereabouts of my Mistress. If I learn that you're lying to me, I will make it so that your screams echo throughout the cosmos. That Egyptian specter you are so fond of will not save you. Nothing will save you. My supremacy is absolute; I am a **GOD**. If I learn that you are lying to me, I will squeeze the life from the both of you, and drink your liquefied innards like the finest of wines."

With a snap of the existence's fingers, the line of communication was cut; as quickly as it'd appeared, the unstable, murky portrait had dissipated, leaving little behind, save an amused Aleister Crowley within his Windowless Building, looking over the broadcasts relayed to him by his many screens.

* * *

The twisting, winding halls of the secretive and heavily-protected facility would've made Kamijou Touma sick, if he'd retained the ability to feel nauseous.

That was a loss he couldn't complain about.

Sickness was inherently a weakness, and shrugging off a weakness was nothing Touma would cry about, if he'd retained the ability to do so.

Finally, after what felt like so many trips, bound within the claustrophobic confines of so many elevator boxes, and so many tight, mouldering corridors, Touma had arrived at his destination within his destination.

Unlike previous instances of doors within the inconspicuous, derelict-seeming facility, the set of doors Touma stood before were enormous, heavily reinforced and appeared to be virtually impenetrable. To the right of either of the massive doors, there was a small metallic box mounted to the wall, with an even smaller speaker welded upon its surface. Beneath this speaker, a little green button was present. Kamijou Touma pressed his hand's index finger down upon it, pushing it in; once it was fully pushed downwards, the button produced a soft click.

A voice spoke aloud, and Touma released the button. The disembodied voice sounded tired, as if the individual to whom it belonged wanted nothing more than to fall over and lose themselves to slumber. Emerging from the small, cheap speaker, the vocalization was tinny, and repeatedly crackled.

"Name and passcode."

"Open up or I'll killyou and everyone you care about."

"K-Kamijou… I m-mean, K-Kamijou-Sama. Please, come i-in."

Though an idle and ultimately empty threat, it'd obviously worked as intended, nonetheless.

Either of the enormous, reinforced doors produced a loud, booming "crash" as they opened, revealing what laid beyond; an expansive laboratory, stocked with various pieces of highly-advanced equipment, from large, bed-like pods to a series of heart monitors, the latter of which Kamijou Touma was all too familiar with.

Mounted upon the walls, several enormous screens, whose wiring ran downwards and into the facility's walling displayed archaic and complex diagrams, graphs, and even security footage from around the facility, both within and beyond its walls. Scattered around the laboratory, numerous individuals quietly but diligently worked, inputting information or researching potential breakthroughs; their fingers pushed down on clacking keys and on clicking mouse buttons.

The first sights of Hell itself swiftly made themselves visible to him; it hadn't even taken more than a few seconds. Kamijou Touma found himself feeling oddly impressed.

Dragging itself around the tiled floors was an abomination, a crime against nature, with a quartet of amused-looking individuals, each clad in casual-seeming attire with a cheap-looking lab coat over top of their respective outfits.

The abomination had likely been human, once. Its form looked to have been scrambled, like it had been placed within the confines of the world's largest blender and then mixed until it was little more than mush.

Its skin, which hung loosely from its bones, puddling around its form upon the tiled floor was light in pigmentation. Its jaw hung loosely, with portions of its brain exposed. Oozing lifeblood perpetually dripped from the corners of its wild eyes, and from within its jaw as it struggled to move itself about.

Clumps of long, thick hair had begun to sprout all over its form, as if they were instances of flora struggling to grow in an arid environment. Around its neck, there was a collar to which a leash was attached; in the hand of the scientist who was apparently the quartet's ringleader the leash was held, tightly.

"Good to see you, Kamijou-Tama!" she exclaimed. The quartet's apparent ringleader made her way towards the being who'd once been a normal high school boy, heels clacking loudly against the flooring. Long, naturally curled auburn hair fell to her shoulders, its fringe swept downwards and trimmed slightly. She wore a pair of spectacles upon her face, whose frames were dark and square-shaped. Her lips were full, and gleamed beneath the synthetic light beamed down by the panels of the ceiling above.

"Last evening, Sazumi-chan here was little more than a level three electromaster attending Tokiwadai Middle School. Now, she has the pristine honor of being the first step in human evolution's next great leap, a project overseen by our superb Gensei-Sama, of course!"

Kamijou Touma shrugged. He crouched before the unfortunate, broken-looking thing and extended his left hand outwards, his fingers outstretched. Like an energetic puppy, it struggled towards Touma's form, the bones of its knees and elbows clacking against the dull tiled flooring. A mix of puss and salivary gland secretions dripped from the corners of its mouth, its tongue lulling uselessly, hanging limply between either of its thick, bloodied lips. The crime against nature lacked a visible nose; apparently, it breathed through its mouth, as it repeatedly wheezed.

Zeeee, nunununuuu.

The left hand of Kamijou Touma shifted, nanorobots leaping into action upon command. Swarming like so many warrior bees from a hive, charging on the command of a queen bee, they took the shape of a pointed protrusion, with a horribly-sharpened point.

Becoming a blur for a moment's time, Touma thrust his blade-hand into the head of the crime against nature. Flesh was torn and a section of one of the portions of its partially-exposed brain was parted effortlessly. Through the top of the abomination's head Touma's blade-hand was thrust, and out from the bottom of its jaw the blade-hand emerged, tarnished with lifeblood and shredded brain matter. The thing had hissed for only a moment, spluttering a toxic concoction of bodily fluids from its oversized mouth before it died quickly and painlessly.

"You could've at least had the decency to kill this person after you completely destroyed them," Touma casually remarked. Tearing his blade-hand out from within the abomination's head, having laid it to rest, he shook his own head as his eyelids closed for a moment.

"It would've been the absolute minimum of a sign of respect between two people.

"You think you're tough shit, don't you? I bet you're very proud of yourselves. Maybe I'll put you through something similar, huh? Maybe I'll strip you butt naked, put you on a leash and leave you out in district ten, with a sign on you that says "fuck me for free". I'm sure there'd be a few buyers. Heck, thinking about it now, I could make a quick couple of yen off letting a bunch of douchebags rape you over, and over, and OVER."

Touma approached the unfazed woman before him; her colleagues (or perhaps her underlings) were hardly made of such stern stuff. As Kamijou Touma closed the distance between himself and the quartet, the three stooges began to cautiously step back; one turned tail and fled outright, dashing towards a nearby corridor and vanishing from sight after turning a corner.

Reaching outwards, Touma poked at his apparent opponent's belly with his right hand's index finger, his lips curling into a shit-eating grin.

"Maybe they'll fill you up, yeah? Then, nine months later, just before the load drops, I'll fucking tear it out with my bare hands, and make you eat…"

"Kamijou-san, that will be quite enough. You haven't even entered my office and you're already failing your test. Come on, son."

To the north of Kamijou Touma and the stern-faced woman he'd confronted, a reinforced door had been pushed open, its hinges creaking loudly as it was pressed against the wall behind it.

The older man who'd emerged distinctly looked like someone who didn't at all belong in the environment he'd found himself within.

Clad in a simplistic, but distinctively cultured outfit, consisting of a beige sweater vest, with a collared top beneath it, on his legs he wore a pair of beige slacks and a set of plain leather dress shoes, pointed and heavily scuffed protected his feet. Of dark-skinned descent, his dark hair was short, with the top naturally curling.

As if surrendering, Touma took a few steps back from the stern-faced, auburn-haired woman, his blade-hand shifting to its original form due to the fluttering of nanorobotic clusters.

"This isn't over," Touma spoke, an air of not only confidence, but seriousness in his vocalizations. "Your days are numbered; the old man doesn't give a single _shit_ if I annihilate the likes of you. You're completely expendable and replaceable. I think he might even find it funny."

The woman snorted, crossing her arms beneath her bosom and tossing her hair's fringe to the side with a swift whip of her neck.

"And who are you, Kamijou? His little attack mutt? Get off that high horse of yours before someone knocks you off it."

"With me, Kamijou-san. Now," the older man spoke. He placed his right arm around Touma's shoulders, and lead him beyond the door from which he emerged.

With his available hand, the older man closed the reinforced door behind her, leaving the stern-faced, auburn-haired woman and her traumatized cohorts to ponder Touma's words, and to clean up the mess he'd created.

Once the door was shut behind them, Kamijou Touma let loose.

"I'm going to fucking kill her, Arthur," the being who'd once been a mere 'high school boy' snarled. "I'm going to gut her like a goddamn pig and dance on her guts. Just wait; you'll see her hanging from the fucking light post outside, dangling from her guts like a piñata."

The older man, Arthur, turned to face Kamijou Touma. He leaned forward, resting either of his surprisingly soothing hands upon the being's shoulders; his form hardly even shuddered as his palms contacted Touma's chilled form.

"This is a safe space; don't… don't bring toxicity here. Leave it all outside for me, Kamijou-san? It's good to see you today. How was school? Did you go today? I really hope you're keeping your grades up."

"Good to see you too, Roosevelt-san. I did, actually. It was good; I got to see someone I haven't seen in a long time, someone who's really important to me. Grades are fine," Touma relented. His shoulders slumping slightly. "Sorry."

Arthur parted from him, and made his way to the other side of the small room, barely larger than a broom closet, where a small computer terminal was located. Placed upon the surface of a legless, wall-mounted desk, Dr. Arthur Roosevelt faced the computer's monitor as his fingers caused the keyboard's individual keys to softly clack, their tips pushing down upon the keys.

As Touma casually tossed himself onto the throne-like swivel chair located behind another, larger, though still almost laughably miniscule oaken desk, Arthur completed whatever data entry duties he'd set out to accomplish. Turning from the computer, Dr. Arthur Roosevelt looked to the being before him.

"You'll be taking the chair today, Kamijou-san?" The older man inquired, chuckling lightly. "That's all right. I can stand, found myself sitting on the old bottom too much today, anyhow. Do you know what my daughter's taken to calling me? "Ouchie Butt".

"Keeps you going in this hellhole, huh?" Touma responded, swivelling in his seat to face the older man before him, their eyes locking. "When you live in a place like Academy City, you need something beautiful to go home to at night, something to look at, something you can tell yourself you live for. We all do things we regret, and looking at the people we don't regret keeping around, it makes it all a bit easier."

"Looking towards a degree in philosophy, are we?" Roosevelt inquired, jokingly. "Well, unfortunately, if you're looking for something of that sort, you'll probably have to attend a university out of the City."

Kamijou Touma responded by producing an unamused grunt, which slowly evolved into a slightly amused-sounding chuckle.

"Right," the being before Arthur Roosevelt spoke. "By the way, you might want to grab that."

Arthur Roosevelt watched as the queer existence before him motioned to a small clipboard, with numerous sheets of plain white paper clipped into place, along with a ball point pen set upon the surface of the oaken desk.

He'd completely forgotten; at least Arthur's patient was on the ball.

The older man quickly scooped both up, resting the back of the clipboard against his right hand's palm, while he fiddled with the pen in his left. After softly clearing his throat, the older man spoke to Kamijou Touma, whose attention he seemed to focused on him.

"Well, then, Kamijou-san. Let's get down to business. We have a little bit less time than usual together before you'll be joining Dr. Kihara for your… physical tests, unfortunately. Dr. Kihara has informed me that I'll be needing to tend to some of his other patients more frequently, one of which you were unfortunate enough to encounter.

"With this dark news put to the side, we begin. I noticed an interestingly intense spike in your anger just a few moments ago; what was it, exactly, that brought the bout of anger on? Would you feel comfortable with telling me?"

Touma shifted in his seat. "What isn't there to be 'angry' about? Any decent person would look at something like that and get pissed, or maybe scared, maybe even both. Either reaction would be logical; and preaching about "human evolution" and all this nonsense? These maniacs use science as a thin veil to throw over the fact that they're glorified torturers who don't even have a reason to torture."

Roosevelt followed along, the pen held in his left hand's grip scribbling words, phrases, and jotting down side and footnotes. He would occasionally nod his head, seemingly in agreement.

"Well," the older man began, causing Touma to tilt his head to one side, "this would normally be the part where we would talk in greater detail about the issue that's obviously troubling you, but… unfortunately that's not possible right now.

"Instead, how about we try to identify any changes in your Information-Gathering and Storage Nodes? Dr. Kihara did warn me in the past that errors in the nanotechnological infusion could be both external and internal in nature; therefore, it's only fitting that we check for both, don't you agree?"

Though he rested his pen behind his ear, Arthur Roosevelt didn't immediately look up from his clipboard. When he did, Kamijou Touma identified a distinctly troubled-looking facial expression, where a concentrated and serious one had existed prior to the words he'd last spoken.

"You know how this goes, Kamijou-san. Feel free to let me know if a particular word bothers you or triggers any sort of negative reaction, or causes any sort of negative influxes. I'll make sure to take note of it, and forward the results to Dr. Kihara. Very well, here goes; dog."

"Catalyst," Touma responded, following the orders of his data's individual bursts.

"Element."

"Destroy."

Though he raised an eyebrow in response, Dr. Arthur Roosevelt continued, regardless.

"Parent."

"Hide."

Kamijou Touma's responses were telling; there was certainly a change in pattern. That much was already becoming overtly noticeable. There was increased force in the words of the being who'd once been a 'normal high school boy', a distinctive desire to take the reigns of the situation at hand and maintain full control. Arthur Roosevelt could hardly blame his patient for feeling such feelings and thinking sought thoughts.

"Memory."

"Returned."

"… level five."

"Maniac."

Touma's eyelids widened, parting further from each other than usual as he almost leapt from his seat. He shook his head and babbled incoherently for a moment, before he gathered his wits; at least, Dr. Arthur Roosevelt assumed Kamijou Touma merely had to gather his wits.

"That's not what I meant to say," Touma firmly insisted. "I think I know why I'm being fed this thing constantly. I have some unfinished business with… with a friend. Someone… someone I might like to be more than 'just friends' with. I think this might be the data's way of dealing with the negativity I've been passively storing up? I need to get rid of it, I don't like thinking these things."

Dr. Arthur Roosevelt simply nodded, jotting down abridged versions of Kamijou Touma's spoken words, censoring him where necessary and replacing words that might peak the old man's interest with less interesting terms.

The concept of 'level five' acting as a trigger wasn't mentioned in Roosevelt's written log.

He then looked to the computer's monitor behind him, and back to Kamijou Touma.

"We're almost out of time, but we have a few minutes available for a brief physical examination," Arthur remarked. "I think you know the drill by now. Care to pass me the ruler?"

Touma moved to do exactly that. Lifting the small ruler from the oaken desk behind him, he threw it in the direction of Roosevelt, who caught it in his left hand's palm. The older man smirked in Touma's direction, and physically, silently gloated about his catch by moving the ruler from side to side.

Extending his arm, Dr. Arthur Roosevelt held the ruler outwards, pointing towards the room's ceiling.

Kamijou Touma knew what he had to do, and how he'd have to do it.

Both of the being's arms decomposed, shifting into two masses of swarming, buzzing nanorobots. They swirled around their main mass's form, forming curling, lashing pillars.

Then, both swarms surged outwards, towards the ruler held in the hand of Dr. Arthur Roosevelt, whose brow furrowed as the nanorobots approached.

Roosevelt swiftly lowered his hand, evading the nanorobots' grasp. The swarms moved downwards, lashing in the direction of the ruler, which was then quickly moved to the left, and then to the right. The good doctor's lips curled into a grin, exposing his pearly, shining teeth.

Finally, Kamijou Touma decided to stop playing around. His own lips had curled upwards into a vaguely sinister grin of his own.

Increasing their numbers until they'd nearly doubled, the swarm itself subsequently doubled. The rightmost swarm of nanorobots enveloped Dr. Arthur Roosevelt almost completely; only spaces for his nostrils and for his lips were hollowed out. Predictably, the ruler was dropped from the palm of the good doctor's hand, hitting the floor and coming to rest there as the swarm of nanorobots relented, returning to Kamijou Touma and becoming his right and left arms once again, mechanically humming all the while.

Roosevelt seemed unimpressed. Still, he couldn't retain this stern outward appearance; the older man soon found himself chuckling as he shook his head from side to side, as if he was amused by the rebellious actions of a wayward child; in a manner of speaking, he was amused by the rebellious actions of something that certainly wasn't a child. It wasn't necessarily even human.

"Did you learn that one with Dr. Kihara, Kamijou-san? Or is that the result of your own diligent work?"

"All me," Touma confidently replied, his head help high. "I know I didn't actually take it from you, but I think I passed the test regardless."

Nodding, the older man finally managed to catch his breath, following a period of panting. Retrieving the ruler from its place on the floor, Roosevelt set it upon the surface of the oaken desk and shrugged his shoulders, attempting to physically shrug off the effects of having his entire form squeezed in a great, twisted reflection of a bearhug.

The affection behind the physical assault was there, at least.

"Now we know your nanotechnological units are functioning correctly and seem to be under your control, which is a very good development. In only a month you've accomplished so much, Kamijou-san. I'm very proud of you and of your diligence.

"Before I let you go, I have one more exercise I'd like to go over with you; I'd like to make sure the units that'd decided to function as your Ocular Identification Units are still A OK. If there's anything you'd like to bring to my attention, son, feel free to do so."

There certainly was something on Kamijou Touma's mind, though he didn't verbally respond right away. His head swivelled on the neck to which it was attached, moving slowly from left to right, allowing for Touma to check the upper and lower corners of the room in which he found himself.

He wasn't quite certain as to what, exactly, he was searching for. Cameras were one category of objects. Microphones were another, and a combination of both would've been particularly damning.

Though no foreign presences were identified, Touma still spoke his piece quietly, with a hint of cautiousness.

"Now that you mention it," Touma began, "there is something that's been happening. When I've neared metallic surfaces, like certain walls, some doors, and for some reason, chain link fences, I… I lose control. They go off of their own accord and just sort of stick to the offending surface. My nanotechnological units, that is. They seem to reset after I get myself far enough away from the offending surface, so I guess that's a plus?"

For a moment, Dr. Arthur Roosevelt tapped the side of his face with his index finger, as he began to pace about. The older man produced a soft, curious-sounding "hmm" from time to time.

"It sounds to me like your passively-generated magnetic field is acting up. There's a fairly simple way of resetting the field to its default state if it's changed for the worst. If I were you, I'd try to apply a magnet or another source of magnetism to your body, even just something you pick up from the hardware store. The magnetic interference should cause your passively-generated field to trigger a failsafe and reset. Have you been exposed to any electric interference? Lightning, for example? Another good way to scramble your field is to use a corded phone, or any other wired technologies during a thunderstorm."

A small grin tugged at the edges of Kamijou Touma's lips, forcing them to curl upwards. For a moment, he saw her face, its facial features soft, her lips even softer. Her big, chestnut brown irises and the hair atop her head which matched their coloration brought Kamijou Touma a familiar sense of positivity.

Kamijou Touma had been exposed to 'electrical interference', alright.

"Yeah," Touma spoke, nodding his head, yes. "I actually did get struck by lightning a couple of times the other day, believe it or not. Just my luck, right?"

Arthur Roosevelt found himself chuckling; it was funny, that something which wasn't even human, at least not in the present could bring more humor to his life than any of the sick-minded 'organic' human beings within the nasty, mouldering facility could.

Then again, was Arthur Roosevelt even any better than them? He was part of the problem, too, no matter how much he tried to tell himself otherwise. His humor faded as quickly as it'd come; such was the nature of an environment more toxic than even the substance found within the most potent of bottled poisons.

Raising his right arm, Dr. Arthur Roosevelt raised his right hand's index finger.

"Let's begin, if you're ready. How many fingers am I holding up, Kamijou-san?" the older man inquired, softly.

"One," his patient answered.

The older man's next finger, adjacent to his index finger was raised, joining the index finger in standing tall.

"How about now?"

"Two."

This process was repeated until each digit, minus the older man's hand's thumb was raised; Kamijou Touma had spoken correctly each time.

Dr. Arthur Roosevelt turned his attention to the computer in the corner of the room, across from Kamijou Touma's form. After he'd approached the device and had begun to utilize its keyboard and mouse, he spoke to his patient behind him.

"Everything checks out well enough for me to give you permission to get started on your physical testing," the older man spoke, focused intently on the data input application displayed on the computer's monitor.

"That's it; a little bit shorter than usual, I know. Don't get too sad, we'll be seeing one another again the next time you decide to stop by. Speaking of which, you've been stopping by quite frequently. Have you considered taking a short hiatus?"

Though the older man's words contained an overt tone of neutrality, Kamijou Touma detected a hint of forcefulness behind them. It wasn't really a question, not as much as it was a recommendation.

"Can't," Touma responded, rising from the swivel chair and turning his back to the good doctor's form. "Lots of work to do. Besides, the old man might miss me if I up and disappear."

"It was good seeing you, Kamijou-san. Take care, now."

Without another word shared between them, Touma yanked the reinforced door of the closet-like room open and stepped back out into the open space of the laboratory, allowing the heavy portcullis behind him to close shut of its own accord, egged on by the pulling force of gravity.

Evidently, cleaning crews had previously been dispatched while he'd been in Roosevelt's broom closet of an office; the cadaver of the crime against nature the old man's lackeys had created was nowhere to be found, and not even a singular drop of liquid it'd produced remained.

It was as if the horror Kamijou Touma had seen dragging itself along the floors, with a collar around its neck like it'd been some sort of domesticated animal had never even been real.

Paying not even another thought to the subject, the being known as Kamijou Touma walked through the mostly open space of the laboratory, passing the unsightly, vaguely bed-like pods by, as well as the old, cream-colored IV drips and the many, many heart monitors that'd been set up close to actual hospital beds, none of which contained any living human beings, or even the earthly remains of deceased human beings.

Apparently, it was a slow day at the office.

The laboratory was soon traversed through, and its many doors, almost all which Touma knew to be quite tightly locked were left behind.

Parting a pair of heavy, reinforced doors constructed of an even thicker metallic substance than others of its ilk, Touma left the laboratory entirely, and entered another dismal, sterile corridor, like all the others in the facility. Though the corridor seemed to be a dead end, as it ended in an obstructive wall with a large, door-sized window set in its center, there was another set of doors present within the hallway; these, in fact, lead into an elevator car, assuming the car had arrived on the floor when the doors opened.

It was then that the set of doors opened, both sliding inwards, groaning as their seemingly poorly-maintained inner workings performed their duties.

From within the elevator car that'd arrived, a trio of busy, concerned-looking individuals stepped out, wheeling a portable bed along with them. The thing's means of locomotion squealed and repeatedly produced loud, shrill grinding noises, as if each of the four wheels was about to suddenly shatter into millions of pieces.

Apparently, the old man just couldn't get enough of kidnapping little girls. For a moment, Kamijou Touma silently wondered if the geezer was some sort of diddler; the old man's appearance fit the bill perfectly.

Strapped down to the portable bed, a girl's unconscious form was ensnared with surprisingly powerful-looking metallic bindings. Like a brutalist's vision of an Anti Skill officer's handcuffs, the bindings were snapped onto the young-seeming girl's wrists and ankles.

Upon making eye contact with Kamijou Touma, the trio of busybody underlings hurried down the corridor, forcing open the reinforced doors he'd only recent passed through himself.

Stepping into the emptied elevator car, Kamijou Touma waited patiently until the shaft's doors slid shut, followed by the car's own doors, which shrieked even louder than the set before them.

While there wasn't a lot he could do, he swore he'd kill one of them for her, whoever she was, whenever the moment presented itself.

The same level of tenderness and care had been put into the design of the elevator car's interior as the rest of the run-down facility; the level of tenderness and care being none. It was simplistic, with cold tired flooring that offered the car's sole inhabitant a twisted, perpetually-swimming reflection of himself to look down at. Its inner walls were plain and sterile, while the car's railings were just barely mounted to the inner walls.

"Underground five," Touma spoke aloud.

As if to verbally respond, the elevator car within the shaft shook, as the verbal command was processed. Some lackluster artificial intelligence comprehended the command and acted in response, causing the elevator car to descend. No doubt this artificial intelligence was operated by one of the many shoddily-built, but surprisingly capable computers within one of the facility's many laboratories, as well as its various research and development stations. Kamijou Touma couldn't quite be sure which one; perhaps the same artificial intelligence, however shitty, operated over some type of network. The old man hadn't been specific; this fact hardly came as a surprise.

After some time had passed, the grinding, groaning elevator car had come to a halt. Both sets of doors, those belonging to the car and those belonging to the shaft opened, and Touma stepped out from within the car, each of his footfalls echoing louder than the last. The short, unlit passageway through which Touma walked was plastered with various forms of fungal life, especially black mould, which was in abundance on the ceilings and along the walls.

A voice crackled over a series of loudspeakers set within the unlit passageway. Though of low quality and riddled with static, the speaker's tone of voice was one of mirth, and one of a false warmness.

"Aaah. There you are, Kamijou-kun. I'm so very glad you've decided to visit. No need to come and see me; make your way down into the Sphere and we'll get started."

Tossing open yet another set of infernal, reinforced doors, Kamijou Touma stepped through both, and into what may as well have been Hell itself. The great, gaping maw of the 'Combat Screening Zone', in reality a large, hollowed-out hole in the flooring, "spiced" up with sterile, metallic walls and cold tiled flooring known as the Sphere waited for the being who'd once been a 'normal high school boy'. Projected from several panels mounted to the ceiling above, golden, synthetic light beamed down, illuminating the circular space around the Sphere's maw, and the Sphere itself.

The Sphere wasn't unoccupied.

"Oi, old man," Touma spoke, an edge in his vocalization, "what's this? The fuck are you playing at? Who do you have down in the Sphere, and are we not doing my readings first? If you're fucking with me… shit, what's that noise? Sounds like… sounds like shit."

"Calm yourself, Kamijou-kun," the crackling, static-ridden voice responded, quite softly, in a tone similar to that of a father gently disciplining his child. "Capacity Down cannot have any effect on you, adverse or otherwise. Your readings will be taken once you've entered the Sphere."

More out of morbid curiosity than any actual desire to obey the speaker, Kamijou Touma leapt from the edge, allowing himself to freefall as stale air passed him by, ruffling his hair and tugging at the edges of his face. His 'clothing' flapped about freely before the nanorobots which composed it tightened their magnetic grip upon one another.

With a thud, Touma landed within the Sphere, feet first. Though the area shook, like it was being assaulted by a minor tremor, the flooring beneath him remained undamaged. Rising up, he looked to the only other living being within the Sphere.

The Sphere's other inhabitant didn't seem to be concerned by the streaks of long-dried, congealed lifeblood that stained not only the inner walls, but the flooring as well.

Clad in Tokiwadai Middle School's winter uniform, she'd turned her attention to the being that'd landed before her. Her hair, a hue of soft, chestnut brown was short, just barely falling to her shoulders; her eyes were oddly empty, and atop her head she wore a pair of large, militarized combat-goggles.

"Misaka didn't expect to see the Savior here, Misaka explains as she attempts to inform the Savior that she is surprised by his presence."

Her voice was monotonous and without emotion, her facial expression utterly passive. Sitting upon a chair that was far too small for her size, the clone of Misaka Mikoto, the mighty Railgun sat before an equally small table, where a box of some sort of juice, complete with a straw was set, along with what looked like the remains of a half-eaten cookie.

The clone burped.

"Misaka apologizes for her lack of manners; it would appear that Misaka has gas, Misaka states, defending the repulsive actions she has taken in front of the Savior."

Kamijou Touma had no idea what was happening, or why it was, or might've been happening. Instead of losing his cool and potentially frightening not only the innocent clone before him, but the entire Misaka Network at large, the being kept his cool as he crouched before the Railgun's clone. Taking either of her soft, silky hands into his own, Touma looked up to the clone, their eyes locking.

"Misaka Imouto? Is that you? I know there're a lot of you. Who are you, sweetheart? You can tell me, I won't hurt you, I promise; just stick with me, listen to what I tell you, and I'll make sure I get you out of here, alright? Everything's going to be okay."

"Misaka's serial number is ten thousand and twenty-eight, Misaka states, trusting in the Savior and believing the Savior's words completely," the clone responded, without even a moment of hesitation.

"Misaka has heard a lot about the Savior. Misaka wondered what it would be like to meet you. Misaka thinks you seem very kind, Misaka admits, attempting not to reveal the fact that Misaka thought serial number 10032 may have been stretching the truth in her description. Misaka is curious as to what the Savior is doing here, however, Misaka says, finalizing her short verbal essay, well aware that she has begun to ramble. Misaka isn't too sure why she's here, either. Misaka only remembers falling asleep while she was walking, and that the sky was dark. Maybe it was nighttime; Misaka doesn't know for sure right now."

Without another word spoken to one of Misaka Mikoto's many sisters, Kamijou Touma rose, and looked to the ceiling above the Sphere, his eyes unfazed by the bright, golden beams of synthetic light.

"You have my attention, old man. What kind of game are you playing? What am I going to have to do to ensure that she leaves this place safely?"

The static-ridden, crackling, disembodied voice responded, broadcasted from so many loudspeakers scattered throughout the Sphere, and from above it.

"You see, Kamijou-kun, that's exactly it; there's a good chance she won't be leaving at all… it all depends on how you perform. I'd like to see how you cope with different types of mental and emotional stress, and I'd like to see how your decision-making is affected when you are placed under extreme pressure."

Kamijou Touma kept alive in his heart the vow he'd silently made not to upset the Sister. Whether she was already upset or not, Touma couldn't be sure. He looked to the Sister and offered her the warmest, sincerest smile he possibly could, nodding in her direction as if to say, "I've got this."

"You don't realize who you're fucking with, do you?" Touma inquired. "I'm the least of your worries, old man. If you fuck with the Sisters, you're fucking with _him_ , and that's not something you want to do. Did you find out you've got terminal cancer, or something? Do you have some sort of psychotic death wish?"

There was no response from the disembodied voice. Instead of a verbal response, Kamijou Touma's host, and the host of Misaka ten thousand and twenty-eight responded by causing two enormous, semicircular ceiling panels to slide outwards from within the walls of the Sphere, turning it into a great container. Enormous and metallic, these panels would've rendered the Sphere itself completely darkened, if not for a series of smaller panels set in place beneath them, beaming synthetic light down into the Sphere.

From two small machines, each only the size of the average person's forearm, currents of electricity were generated; bright blue and crackling loudly, individual currents licked at the surfaces of the panels which had slid closed.

Kamijou Touma was expected to perform, and he knew it.

He cast his gaze to the clone of Misaka Mikoto sitting before him. Returning to her and crouching before her again, Touma spoke as quietly and as calmly as he could; his previous question was answered. The clone's pulse had quickened, thudding within her wrist far too quickly for his liking.

"Hey," Touma said, quite casually. "Relax. It's going to be okay. I won't hurt you; I will need you to play along with me though. If we're going to get out of here we're going to need to put on a little show for the powers that be. Do you think you can help me with that?"

The Sister nodded, somewhat reluctantly. In response, Touma rose and pushed her bangs from her eyes with his right hand, his fingers gently brushing against the Sister's forehead; she shivered, slightly.

"Misaka trusts the Savior, as Misaka has plenty of positive testimonies from other operating units, and from the Moderator. Misaka will "play along" with the Savior to ensure Misaka's and the Savior's survival in what is effectively a hostage situation, Misaka states plainly."

"Alright; I'm going to wink a few seconds before I move to attack the vague area in which you stand. When I wink, you're going to roll or otherwise get out of the way. Does that sound like a plan?"

"Misaka is on board with the Savior's trickery, Misaka explains, feeling quite glad that the Savior is capable of thinking quickly in tense situations."


	7. Going Through Changes

The soft, concerned voices of her two friends were filtered out by her frightened higher mind as she sat on the cold, but comfortingly familiar surface of a metallic bench, bolted to the brown, cobbled ground just outside of a small café in Academy City's seventh school district.

Othinus – and in the moment she knew herself to be Othinus, and not "Olivia, Kamijou Touma's distant relative hailing from Denmark" – had only moments ago recovered from an all-too-familiar sense of dread, an overwhelming desire to flee as far as she could creep up her spine. It was simple, primal and easily understood.

Someone beyond the even the scope of the power she'd once wielded as "Majin Othinus" was nearby.

" _Son of a b… bugger. Why are YOU here? Wait. No. It's not you… you're incomplete. An echo, nothing more, a diluted mass, a puppet dangling from so many strings. Whatever business you may have, do not bring it here, Mad Tritonian… ironic for me of all beings to call anyone "mad."_

"…Olivia-chan…? Do you want to talk about it?"

"Olivia-chan, is everything okay? You're really pale. I think you might need to start taking some vitamin D supplements, and some vitamin C to help boost your immune system. I think you're sick."

"Himegami, Fukiyose. Sit with me. Side stitches; I think I overexerted myself during our physical education class. Just sit with me for a short while."

* * *

Kamijou Touma stared down the Sister before him, who'd risen from her seat at the pitifully small table. She looked blankly at him, tilting her head to one side; her hair's fringe, as well as its bangs drifted to the same side.

"Misaka is ready to engage the Savior, Misaka announces as she attempts to convince those who have taken her and the Savior hostage that she feels even a modicum of confidence. Misaka also feels inclined to inform you that Misaka is only a level one failure and won't provide you with much of a challenge."

Outwardly, Kamijou Touma projected a confident and calculating persona. His lips curled up into a grin, as he rested either of his arms behind his head, interlocking his fingers as he approached the Sister. For only a moment, Touma allowed the grin to fade, and flashed the Sister the most sympathetic of looks, as if to say "I don't mean anything that I'm about to say."

"A level one clone? That's all? Academy City, the so-called "most technologically advanced" City in the world can't even consistently produce level threes, or level fours? What a fucking joke; it's so funny that I'm completely incapable of laughing. I knew the perpetually-rotting old men who experiment on little girls were incompetent, but... this is a whole new level of fucking hilariously awful."

He didn't exactly know it, but Kamijou Touma found himself in a similar situation to Academy City's number one strongest esper. As the Network's savior approached, grinning madly, this fact wasn't lost on the Sister, Misaka ten thousand and twenty-eight either. For only the most fleeting of moments, the Sister almost saw him as a once-savior, someone who'd irreparably been broken.

But the wink that came reassured her. The momentary lapse in the façade, in which the eyelids of Kamijou Touma's right eye closed, and then reopened helped the Sister to harden her heart and put her complete trust in him, the Savior of the Misaka Network.

She leapt to the side, paying no mind to the school uniform that'd been assigned to her some time ago. Her form hit the ground, physically unharmed.

Where she'd been standing, the flooring was torn away by a series of viciously lashings; Kamijou Touma's right arm had broken apart, becoming a swirling, swarming mass of nanorobotic machine-phase matter. Touma had manually increased the density of the barely-connected cluster of nearly microscopic machines just as it had been swung downwards; the force applied to the flooring was equal to that of an object being struck down by an oncoming train, travelling at well over two hundred miles per hour.

He was hardly finished.

Kamijou Touma spun on his heel, winking at the Sister before him. She crouched, and where her neck had been, two long, lashing nanorobotic whips cracked at the air, mechanically humming as they were then retracted to their main mass. If the Sister's neck hadn't been severed completely, it would've been irreparably broken.

"Let's try something else. Even if you _are_ just a level one failure," Touma began, that look of not only sympathy, but deep regret returning, and then fading as quickly as it had previously, "we should find out if you can keep up in a moment of aerial conflict. Kihara-sensei wants a show? Kihara-sensei will have a fucking show. Make this exciting for me."

Instincts took hold for a moment, and Misaka ten thousand and twenty-eight proceeded to take some few steps away from the form of the Network's savior, tiny, weak torrents of electricity jumping around her form, from her forehead and from the tips of her fingers.

At first, they resembled enormous, grey-colored carpets. Protruding from Kamijou Touma's back, there were four of them in total, two on each side.

Then they began to take shape. Buzzing and working dutifully to obey their master's commands, nanorobotic machine-phase matter twisted and churned, each protrusion quickly taking the form of a great, angelic wing. Each beat against the fetid air of the Sphere and lifted their master from the ground, freeing him from its oppression.

Without warning, without a wink, Kamijou Touma broke into a nosedive; he plummeted purposefully, his great, grey wings beating a mile a minute.

He didn't dive towards the Sister, however. He curved in mid-air, nearing the leftmost section of the Sphere's walling.

Elsewhere in the facility, a certain elderly man with an oddly-shaped birthmark upon his forehead clicked his tongue.

Kamijou Touma connected with it; synthetic material clashed with synthetic material as Misaka ten thousand and twenty-eight watched on, utterly deadpan.

One bent, cracked, screamed and gave way while the other resisted and pushed back against the kinetic force applied.

The thick, metallic walling shattered and was surrendered beneath Kamijou Touma's relentless onslaught. Metallic support beams and reinforcing metallic sheets within were both torn just as easily, while internal wiring effortlessly snapped, producing torrents of bright, golden sparks from within the leftmost section of the Sphere's walling.

Downwards, Kamijou Touma forced himself, his four great wings beating against the mouldering innards of the Sphere's walling, internal supports and tangled masses of wiring snapping and breaking beneath his will. As sparks and loose, jumping strands of electricity danced across his form, his outer layer of machine-phase matter was broken. The 'wounded' nanorobotic units turned tail and fled, diving into the main mass in order to receive the necessary repairs.

Another great, gaping wound was created in the leftmost section of the Sphere's walling, at the bottom where the flooring and the walling connected. The Sister just barely managed to stumble out of the way of the debris that was flung outwards. Beyond the Sphere, an alarm had been triggered some time ago; its wailing rang out, nearly deafening the Sister who'd taken to covering her ears with the palms of her hands. The internal lighting of the Sphere faded and then died completely, as did the lightning beyond the Sphere. Throughout the corridors of the facility, the only sources of illumination were bright red, repeatedly-blinking hazard lights, mounted within each and every ceiling.

"Misaka is almost glad that she was forcibly disconnected from the Network, Misaka admits, glad that other units do not have to bear listening to the horrid sound that wracks Misaka's mind."

From behind the Sister, the calm, collected voice of Kamijou Spoke over the hellishly loud wails of the facility's alarm system. Either of his hands had fallen to her shoulders, and they gently massaged her. How he'd managed to get there, the Sister didn't quite know.

"I'm really sorry for what I said earlier, sweetheart. I didn't mean a single word of it; the old man couldn't know that anything was out of the ordinary, and now you see why, right? I wanted to take him off-guard, and my gambit seems to have paid off.

"Even if you are a level one, you're still so, so great, and you can do such great things if you put your mind to it. You're so much more than just "a clone". Never forget that. You're… you're you, whatever that means to you.

"Now, listen carefully to me, alright? I know the alarm is loud, but I need you to stay as calm as you can. I've got you, and I won't let go until you're safe and sound. I can see just fine in the dark, so I'm going to take your hand and guide you, alright? Does that sound good to you?"

No immediate verbal response came, but Touma felt the Sister's left hand slip into the cold, but reassuringly softened palm of his own right. His fingers closed around the Sister's hand, and he carefully took the lead.

She was shaking. Her entire form felt as if it was violently vibrating, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes.

"M-M… M-Misaka d-doesn't k-know… w-what happened to the S-Savior… M-Misaka struggles to… say, pointing out the s-stark differences between the a-average human b-being and the Savior's c-current physical a-appearance… M-Misaka t-trusts the S-Savior, because the S-Savior sounds l-like the Savior. M-Misaka trusts you."

Indeed, Kamijou Touma, while lacking his outer layer of nanorobotic machine-phase matter was quite the sight to see, especially for the uninitiated.

His form resembled that of a perfectly generic human body lacking its exterior layers of skin. Rather than being colored a pinkish red, however, Touma's form was dark grey in coloration. Currents of shifting nanorobots danced across his form, making him seem as if he was made up of some sort of liquid substance, rather than (technically) being a solid structure.

Into the ugly, gaping maw the two carefully stepped. Wires loosely dangled from the "ceiling" that Kamijou Touma had carved out, like so many tendrils of some aquatic horror. Sparks continued to dance from the "walls" and "ceiling" alike, which Misaka ten thousand and twenty-eight repeatedly ducked beneath or moved out of the way to avoid. The flooring could hardly be called such; it was bumpy, bound with thick support beams, many of which the Sister found herself nearly tripping over.

"One minute," Touma stated. "Watch this. Maybe you'll find it as funny as I do. First time I did this, the old man got pretty pissed. Watching him try to hide it was… amusing."

Detaching his hand from the Sister's, he moved towards the nearby section of interior walling, which was periodically illuminated by leaping torrents of sparks and jumping streams of electricity.

Kamijou Touma's entire form increased its density. The main mass didn't slow in its movements, but its footfalls became heavier, crunching and crushing support beams beneath it and leaving behind obvious dents in the "flooring".

Through the section of interior walling directly before him Kamijou Touma crashed; it broke apart as he casually walked into it, forcing it to bend to the will of his main mass. He didn't stop moving until that section of interior walling had given way, snapping and screaming as support beams and plates of welded metal were forcibly parted.

He was absolutely monstrous, like something out of a horror film. He seemed to be unstoppable.

And yet the ten thousandth and twenty-eighth clone of Misaka Mikoto followed him through the gaping maw in the walling he'd created, without so much as a second thought and without hesitation. He gently took her hand back into his, and smiled as his outer layer of machine-phase matter was restored. As his soft-looking light skin and his flattened, coal-colored hair returned, the Sister smiled back.

Then, Kamijou Touma and the Sister heard a strange, deep and booming, yet paradoxically almost childlike voice.

"Glubulus get to go for walk?! No more zappy cage?! Playtime already?! Good to stretch legs! Gensei make Glubulus his "avatar of death!" Fun time! HEEEEEEE!"

Touma turned to the Sister who'd deigned to stay at his side. Though they'd successfully escaped the confines of the Sphere and had found themselves in an open, sterile corridor, the former was hardly feeling any more secure. The latter didn't quite understand what was happening.

"Sweetheart, we need to move, and we need to move now. Glubulus is someone… no, not quite… It's something you don't want to meet. We need to find an elevator, something to get us to the main floor, or a staircase that goes upwards, something of the sort. Do you by chance have the same magnetic senses as your Onee-Sama?"

"Misaka can only detect certain materials such as a limited number of high and low density metals, Misaka elaborates as she answers your question to the best of her ability," the Sister spoke. "Misaka can feel stairs that lead up nearby, but they're damaged. Misaka can feel the aforementioned stairs because they're made of steel, Misaka explains."

Touma gently gave the Sister's arm a tug. "It'll do, I can work with that. Lead me there, please and thank you? We need to get away from here. Do you feel the vibrations? I don't want to scare you, but Glubulus is only a few floors above us, by the sounds of it, they must've had him in the Eugenics Lab. Guess that'd make enough sense… let's just say he'd probably give your Onee-Sama trouble if they fought, and leave it at that."

For some time, the two walked together, Touma occasionally tugging on the Sister's arm as gently as he could when the vibrations grew too close for his liking. Once in a while, the existence Kamijou Touma had identified as "Glubulus" would bellow loudly about "bunny baskets" and "petting da cute girls". With the Sister as his guide, Touma passed through corridor after corridor, and room after room, all of which seemed to have been emptied.

"Through this door, Misaka orders," the Sister spoke in a dull, unenthused down that unsettled the being that'd once been a normal high school boy. Stopping before the reinforced thing, Misaka ten thousand and twenty-eight tugged on the doorknob. When that failed, she then shocked said doorknob with as much electricity as her Personal Reality could generate, which wasn't all that much. The door didn't budge, regardless of the Sister's commendable attempts.

Kamijou Touma brought it down by taking some few steps back, and then barrelling into it; with his mass's density increased, his form had taken on the weight close to that of a small SUV. Digging his heels into the tilted flooring, he'd brought himself to a stop as his form's density returned to its previous, standard issue amount.

The Sister had been correct, though Touma hadn't had any sort of real doubt within himself, and apparently his omniscient data agreed, as it had remained oddly silent regarding the clone of Misaka Mikoto.

Just as Touma rose, there was a sudden flash, a bang, and a trail of smoke, forming from the upper landing of the staircase. A red dot had landed upon Kamijou Touma's forehead, and a single, carefully but quickly-aimed shot had made its mark.

Though the Sister was unable to see it, due to having retreated, holding her shaking form against the exterior wall beyond the staircase, listening intently for the approach of those who would seek to harm her or the Network's Savior, there was a crater in Touma's forehead, exposing interlocked, web-like strands of nanorobotic machine-phase matter; but Touma didn't fall, and he didn't falter. He wasted no time; his great, nanorobotic wings reformed after jettisoning from his back, and he leapt to the highest platform, where his assailant had evidently taken point. Touma doubted this assailant to be the only one; there was likely a hired gun turned assailant perched at every staircase in the facility.

The old man could teach Touma a thing or two about being paranoid.

Clad in heavily-plated, thick and likely bulletproof body armor, with their head protected by an equally heavily-armored, full-face tactical helmet, the assailant whose gender couldn't be discerned by Kamijou Touma fired again, their finger mercilessly and thoughtlessly pressing down upon the trigger of their rather unwieldy-looking combat rifle. The being who'd once been a normal high school boy couldn't even tell if the assailant was a human, or a suit of some sort of automated armor.

Electrified rounds, likely specially designed (or at least ordered) by the old man himself for an occasion as the one that was unfolding within the facility bit into Touma's main mass, temporarily damaging his delicate outer layer of soft, fleshy machine-phase matter once more.

Regardless of this fact, skinless, grey-colored "liquid" Kamijou Touma could only shake his head. As he approached, undaunted, his assailant continually backed further and further away, at one point tossing an emptied magazine from his firearm and swiftly replacing it with one which was apparently full, or at least had spare ammunition available.

Each wound made was swiftly regenerated, as both undamaged and damaged clusters of Kamijou Touma's nanorobotic units came to the aid of other damaged clusters. From the inside out his wounds were closed, strands of machine-phase matter lashing and winding around one another.

"Go home to your wife. Is this really worth it? What's this place to you, what's the old man to you? There aren't enough bullets in the world to kill me. Go home and quit this existence. There's nothing here for you."

The assailant, apparently unable or unwilling to provide Touma with a verbal response continued to douse his target's form in electrified rounds, which temporarily paused, but didn't seem to be capable of permanently halting the buzzing, swarming monstrosity's advance.

"On the count of three," Touma began, frustration becoming evident in his tone of voice, "if you don't cut that out, I'm going to hurt you. A lot.

"Three.

"Two.

"One…"

Touma's demand wasn't met.

There was a vocalization, suddenly; wordless and primal, it was a scream of agony, muffled by a full-face tactical helmet.

Kamijou Touma's left hand had morphed and had taken the shape of a sharpened blade, like the head of a medieval pike. The sharpened, hardened and dense collection of nanorobots had bit into the assailant's shoulder, causing thick, oozing lifeblood to spill from the wound as bone matter was shattered beneath the pointed blade's tip.

Breaking apart, Kamijou Touma ripped his blade-hand out from within his foe, before his mass swarmed around the assailant, beneath the assailant's left arm, where Touma reformed behind them. Touma again thrust his blade-hand directly through his foe's opposite shoulder, bringing about a pained groan, which escaped from their lips, the low gurgling sounds again muffled by the helmet. Both hands, returning to their proper forms delivered a flurry of punches – sixty, in the span of a single second – to his foe's back, utterly breaking the assailant's will and sending him crashing to the ground with a monstrous thud.

"So… there is a person in there," Touma remarked, raising his right hand's fingers to his chin. He scratched it, curiously, as if he was pondering some great mystery. "Curious; and here I was thinking that you were a machine or something. Guess it makes enough sense; machines don't scream when you stab them, after all."

Touma turned, as a new, yet old voice spoke aloud; Misaka ten thousand and twenty-eight had entered the mouldering stairwell, and then proceeded to push herself against the nearest section of inner walling. Small currents of electricity leapt from her form as she silently attempted to contemplate some plan of action. As an unarmed level one esper, the Sister had very few options in her arsenal.

"Misaka's ears bore witness to the imminent arrival of more undesirables, Misaka explains, attempting to inform the Savior as best as she can of the direness of the situation at hand."

"Going to need to borrow this, friend," Touma firmly stated.

After swiftly pushing it back in for another pleasurable, if short round of physical torment, Touma began pulling his bladed arm from within the assailant's upper torso, causing the muffled, distinctly male voice projected from beneath the tactical helmet to shriek aloud once more.

Kamijou Touma proceeded to crouch over the assailant's writhing form, and scavenged his discarded weapon. He fiddled with the weapon for a short while until he found its safety mechanism, and then tossed it down below, to the clone of Misaka Mikoto.

With great agility and a sense of grace Touma had no choice but to admire, the Sister caught the firearm in her arms, the barrel pointing towards the tiled flooring beneath her feet.

The Sister frantically moved towards the staircase, which she then climbed; even as the rusted, metallic thing shrieked with each of her footfalls, Misaka ten thousand and twenty-eight didn't consider turning back even once. No longer unarmed, the Sister felt just a little bit more confident.

As the Sister began to toy with the firearm, Touma leapt from the upper landing of the staircase. He hit the tiled flooring below with a thud of considerable force, though it was still dwarfed by the vibrations coming from above. Nearer and nearer they grew, and with each thundering stomp, Touma became more and more uneased.

"Glubulus smell cutie-pie babby! Don't scared little cutie-pie babby, Glubulus take good care! Pet and love and smooch! Glubulus Gensei's "avatar of death!" YAAAAY!"

Rethinking his previous actions, Touma beat his nanorobotic wings, and returned to the upper landing of the staircase with a mighty leap.

Evidently, the Sister had successfully gotten the "borrowed" firearm in working order. With the weapon's long, knob-like safety mechanism pulled back, the Sister held the weapon professionally, like she'd always known how to properly carry such a thing.

Touma had only focused on the Sister for a moment, however; there was still the matter of the writhing, pained, and perpetually-bleeding assailant. He'd managed to get himself onto his knees – a feat that impressed Kamijou Touma greatly – but that was as far as he'd gotten. Like a toddler he crawled forward as lifeblood dripped from his wound.

"He'll snitch if we don't do something," Touma spoke. "I've got this. Gear's probably bulletproof, so it's not as easy as blowing his brains out. I'll just get this helmet off, and…"

The Sister had leapt behind Touma's form, and the form of the crawling, wounded assailant at the right time; she'd seen them first, and had been given a fair amount of time to react before the hail of lead came pouring down upon them, ironically enough, from below the staircase.

Clad in protective gear identical to that of their fallen comrade, a trio of hired guns had followed the trail of damage left behind by Kamijou Touma, and the Sister by association.

She took the moment by the horns like a bull, and rose from behind Kamijou Touma. With her finger on the trigger, the Sister dumped a short burst of rounds into those who'd approached, spraying them with ammunition before she quickly ducked behind the Network's Savior once more, anticipating a retaliation.

Though the short-lived assault hadn't taken their lives, it had certainly caught the group off guard.

As if the situation hadn't become hellish enough, there was a tremendous thud from above the scene, and a few meters outside of the stairwell; ceilings crashed inwards where they met face to face with flooring, metallic support beams were torn and destroyed and sparks flew. Torrents of electricity leapt freely from damaged internal tech.

"OWCHIE! Glubulus faaaaallllll! Huuuurrrtttttttttt, angry now! Glubulus KILL!"

"Fuck them," Touma snapped. "We need to move, NOW."

The Sister silently took to Touma's side, keeping her back to the Network's Savior and her "borrowed" weapon's barrel trained in the direction of those who rushed towards the staircase, occasionally firing bursts of ammunition at them, her small form was wracked by the firearm's recoil each time.

Into yet another corridor, identical in design to those both parties had previously encountered the duo moved, just as there was a crash from within the stairwell; metal was torn, and tiled flooring was broken like panes of glass struck with a particularly large stone.

Then, a cacophony became audible. A symphony of agonized screams was performed live on Broadway from within the stairwell. The sounds of plated armor being torn asunder was one not recognized by either Kamijou Touma or the Sister, but the sound of flesh being parted was. What sounded like so many long, thin objects being violently whipped through the air preceded each ripping noise.

Touma grabbed the Sister behind him. Pulling her close, the being who'd once been a normal high school boy held her close to his chest, his arms around her waist. The doors of an elevator shaft were nearby; rusted and uncleaned, their dark brown paint chipped. Regardless of its poor condition, it would do.

A third arm was formed from Kamijou Touma's nanorobotic machine-phase matter; it rose, and emerged from his back, below the area from where his wings had jettisoned. Its fingers pushed the higher of the two buttons mounted to the wall adjacent to the elevator shaft's doors. The button was pushed inwards, got caught within its own small container, and then was violently pushed outward as the spring mechanism within snapped back into place. To Touma's relief, the button glowed a dirty shade of light blue.

"Misaka appreciates the short ride provided to her by the Savior, but Misaka can stand on her own now, Misaka explains, attempting not to insult the Savior or come off to you as "ungrateful."

"Oh… my bad, Misaka. Sorry. Panicked."

The Sister was set down on the soles of her buckled loafers. She raised her "borrowed" rifle, and peered into the scope mounted upon it. Throughout the corridor from which the duo had fled – and Kamijou Touma could fully admit that he'd fled – there were many vibrations, accented by the sounds of dirtied, tiled flooring being torn up like loose steppingstones beneath the hurried footfalls of a particularly anxious jogger.

Then, Misaka ten thousand and twenty-eight, the mere level one esper, the simple clone, one of thousands of the Railgun, Misaka Mikoto, laid eyes upon the single most terrifying thing she'd ever seen. She was terrified of it, it caused her heart to slam far too quickly within her than it should've been, and yet she felt so deeply sympathetic towards it.

Its form was plump, almost as if it was carrying something within it; both Kamijou Touma, who'd turned to face the lumbering thing and the Sister alike silently hoped it didn't have a functioning uterus. Its stitched flesh was made up of many different pigmentations; shades of brown, pale white and bright, fleshy pink were among the hues visible on its round torso. Its eyes were round and wide, its pupils too small for their irises and whites. It lacked any visible ears upon its bald, stitched head, and a large metallic mask was set over the section of its face where its mouth and nose should've, or might've been. From this mask, many ends of many long tubes, filled with a viscous, perpetually-flowing orange substance were attached. The other ends of these tubes were inserted into a large, crude-looking tank, from which more tubes jettisoned, these "plugging" into the center of the construct's bloated stomach. The right half of its lower body, including its waist, one of its legs and one foot were protected by thick sheets of some metallic substance, both welded and hammered together with enormous, thick-looking nails. The left of the bloated construct's form was bare, with numerous crude-looking pipes protruding from the construct's flesh, bellowing a thick, orange-colored mist. Where a right hand should've been, there was an enormous syringe-like weapon, filled to the brim with a substance that was the color of vomit, and where a left hand should've been, long, metallic wires hung from a fleshy stump, dragging behind the construct.

"Play with Glubulus? Catch you, catch you!" the thing wailed aloud, stomping towards Kamijou Touma and the Sister, whose firearm had been raised to the construct's bald head, the firearm's barrel aligned with the horror's face.

The Sister dumped a dozen rounds into the lumbering construct's stitched flesh, provoking an "ouchie!" or an "augh!" to flee from its invisible or otherwise nonexistent lips. Though it was clearly capable of feeling pain, the hellish thing wasn't by any means weakened. Closer, and closer it came.

An influx of data came to Kamijou Touma, suggesting a last ditch attempt at saving not only himself, but the brave and commendable Sister, as well. Why or how it hadn't come to him sooner Kamijou Touma didn't know, and the same data apparently wasn't willing to answer that question.

The elevator had arrived, the shaft having produced a soft, barely-audible ding. Touma could only hope that his newest gambit paid off.

"Glubulus! Behind you! Gensei-Sama is coming, and he's got the power drill! You don't want that again, do you?!"

The construct halted, its ugly, misshapen feet forcing its bloated form to come to a stop. The wires that hung from its stump of a left wrist ceased to produce that horrid grinding sound, as they no longer snaked along the tiled flooring.

"Don't want powuh drool in Glubulus' bum again, hurts," the construct grumbled. It turned itself around, its diminutive mind preparing to brace for great pain.

But there was no Gensei-Sama there. No Gensei-Sama and no "powuh drool"; its bum was safe for the time being.

It took the construct's higher mind, an unnaturally cloned, cultivated and flawed thing with the IQ of a small, mentally handicapped child a rather long time to comprehend the fact that it'd been bamboozled.

Once this reality had set into place, the construct whipped its malformed, lumpy, bald head in the direction of the elevator's doors; those it'd been chasing were gone.

Quietly, the construct began to whine and weep as it stomped away from the doors of the elevator shaft.

Within the elevator car which travelled upwards, its journey rickety and wrought with so many bumps and short, but nonetheless nerve-wracking temporary stutters, Misaka ten thousand and twenty-eighth stood with her back to the easternmost wall of the small car. Across from her, Kamijou Touma stood, facing the car's doors, his arms folded across his chest.

There were a few more moments of silence about them before a crackling, static-laden voice became audible. Rather than originating from within the car itself, the voice sounded as if it originated from the elevator shaft, as it echoed and followed the ascending car.

"You know, Kamijou-kun, you're just full of surprises. This was hardly the sort of reaction I was expecting. Regardless of the property damage you've caused, I still find myself in a situation where I must thank you; the data I've gathered today is very, very beneficial to this project. Your ability to form genuine emotional connections is both new and so very exciting.

"I must ask one question of you, however, Kamijou-kun; why save the clone? Why save the clone when you've tortured and killed so many others during our sessions in the Sphere? Some… inner sense of heroism that you seek to fulfil? An attempt to cling to the identity you knew?"

Kamijou Touma knew the answer, deep within himself. There was a very stark difference between the murderers, rapists and gangbangers the old man always managed to dredge up to serve as "test subjects" during the "sessions" and an innocent girl who had done no wrong.

Touma wasn't going to give Kihara Gensei the satisfaction of hearing him admit that, however.

"You've gone too far, old man," Touma stated. "Did you think I'd stand by and just let this happen? Did you think I was going to harm her, or someone like her? This isn't over. I'll find you, I'll slash your throat open and I'll fingerfuck the wound as you bleed out, you rabid animal."

"You're very right, Kamijou-kun; this is nowhere near over," the elderly man's voice spoke, calm, collected and calculating as always. There was a hint not only of malice, but of superiority within it, however, both of which infuriated Kamijou Touma. The Sister across from him seemed to be doing her best to stay alert, in case of an emergency.

"You see, Kamijou-kun, you'll be back. You'll be back like before; because you need me, just as much as I need you. I doubt hired muscle will be enough to stop you, but, as they say, the harder you grasp onto something, the more it will slip from your grasp. I understand Kamijou-kun, the rebelliousness of children, especially teenagers… our symbiosis is quite… romantic, overtly. You'll return to me in the end. Ah, how I miss Noukan-kun. His insight would lighten this scenario."

He grunted. Kamijou Touma shifted his weight from side to side, as the Sister across from him looked into his eyes for a moment. Touma did his best to offer the Sister a warm, comforting smile, but the movement soon faded and died after it'd come to be.

To some extent, he did need the old man.

The elevator car soon came to a grinding halt. Its doors slid open, bumping and producing sounds that suggested the sheets of metal were anything but healthy.

Kamijou Touma took the first steps out into the sterile, unlit corridor; apparently, the ceiling-mounted light sources didn't function in that area. Unfazed by the darkness, Touma looked from one end of the corridor to the other. Without the presence of even a single red laser sight, and without the sounds of shuffling boots, Touma waved the Sister within the elevator car onwards. Nodding, she raised her "borrowed" firearm once more and took to the Savior's side.

"I don't know where we are," Touma whispered. "I don't think I've been to this part of the facility before. Most hallways I've been in have always been brightly-lit… maybe this area's unused, or not used frequently enough to warrant being constantly lit? Can't say. I have an idea though."

"Misaka has many questions for the Savior, Misaka remarks now that she has a moment to speak properly with you. Misaka doesn't want to assume anything about the Savior's intentions or relationship with the Evil One, Misaka explains, hoping to further clarify the issue Misaka is currently experiencing."

Touma frowned slightly, as he looked to the Sister before him.

"I'm sure you do," he stated, his voice soft, his tone calm and comforting, "I promise, it's not what you might think."

The nearest section of walling was a bend between the corridor the duo stood within, and the section in which one section of walling became one with another, leading into another corridor which couldn't be seen unless one or both Kamijou Touma and the Sister turned the corner. He leaned forwards and patted his back. For a moment, the Sister some few feet behind him raised an eyebrow in confusion.

"Climb on," Touma stated, softly. "I've got an idea, like I said."

The Sister did what was asked of her with only a moment of hesitation. As she clambered up onto the back of the Misaka Network's Savior, an extra set of arms emerged from either of Kamijou Touma's hips, buzzing mechanically as they formed. Tiny grey things, like the smallest of insects swarmed to form these extremities, clashing with the pigmentation of Kamijou Touma's skin. Both hoisted the Sister upwards and acted as supports for her, solid and unyielding.

He focused, momentarily, visualizing the shape he wished his form to create. From Kamijou Touma's back, a great, swarming mass of nanorobotic machine-phase matter surged over the Sister's form, acting as a makeshift shell, like that upon a turtle's back. A small space was made available, presumably for the Sister to both look through and aim through, if the latter became necessary.

Then, he was off. Like a bullet train that didn't need to build up even a second of momentum, the density of Kamijou Touma's form was continuously shifted from one extreme to the other in terms of its overall weight, allowing him to achieve movement speed that would tear the ligaments of an average human being.

"WE'RE GOING THROUGH THE WALL!" Touma called back to his passenger, shouting over the sounds of tearing tiled flooring and the shuddering of metallic inner workings. "HOLD TIGHT! YOU'LL BE FINE! EVEN IF I WAS TO FALL ON MY BACK – AND I WON'T – YOU'D SUBSTAIN NO HARM AT ALL! YOU'LL JUST HAVE TO TRUST ME, BUT I KNOW THESE THINGS! IT'S KIND OF HARD TO EXPLAIN HOW AND WHY!"

"MISAKA BELIEVES THE SAVIOR'S WORDS, MISAKA STATES AS LOUDLY AS HER VOCAL CORDS WILL PERMIT, ATTEMPTING TO ASSURE THE SAVIOR THAT SHE WAS NOT FIBBING PREVIOUSLY."

Without hesitation, Kamijou Touma crashed through the wall of the facility; exterior and interior sections of walling were torn asunder, wiring was ripped like shreds of cheaply-produced tissue paper, and sparks flew. Momentarily, both of Touma's "true" arms reacted volatilely to a nearby section of piping due to their relative proximity to the section, but this didn't issue didn't come to last.

The final section of interior walling was crashed through like a careless driver speeding through a series of red stoplights. The blue sky above, dotted with overtly threatening-looking clouds mixed in with a number of docile, fluffy clouds of a much lighter coloration, and the cityscape beneath Kamijou Touma and the Sister nearly blinded the latter; the Sister, protected from the whipping wind by the Savior's makeshift shell immediately closed her eyes, and pushed her face into the Savior's back. Her stomach was violently churning, and awkwardly knotted itself multiple times as she clung tighter and tighter to Kamijou Touma's cold form.

From fifteen stories Kamijou Touma began to plummet, the wind whipping around him as his nanorobotic machine-phase matter tightened its passive magnetic grip in order to prevent individual units from being separated from one another. He could almost hear the news reports in the moment, even though he was nowhere near a television set.

Within an instant, and without his conscious permission, his nanorobotic wings were summoned. From above the makeshift shell which protected the Sister's shuddering form they formed, and began to violently beat the air, fighting back against the forceful, whipping winds. Kamijou Touma cautiously, with the most precise actions and the most careful of movements steered himself towards the adjacent school district beyond the damaged, perpetually-crumbling walls of the tenth, the beautiful, shining "City of Science's" black sheep.

The ugly, white tumor standing tall in the center of the adjacent school district verified for Touma that he directed himself towards the seventh. His swarming, mechanically buzzing wings beat the air with greater force as he scanned the landscape below, searching for a relatively unpopulated area to utilize as a makeshift landing pad.

This area turned out to be a parking lot, or what resembled one. Its pavement was smooth and unpopulated, many spaces, outlined with white-colored open boxes were unoccupied. Whatever establishment the parking lot served, it was either very unpopular or not open for business. Given the size of the sprawling structure looming over the lot itself, Touma silently leaned towards the latter.

Performing a sudden nosedive, Touma then gently allowed himself to drift towards the pavement, touching down as softly as he could manage; he brought himself to a halt by repeatedly touching the pavement beneath him, and then rising before his form's momentum could tear him down. His makeshift shell was retracted, dissipating as the nanorobots that'd formed it retreated into their main mass. A tired-looking Misaka ten thousand and twenty-eight looked to her left and then to her right, before Touma set her down on her feet.

"Always sunshine and rainbows in Academy City," Touma grunted. "Such frustration. I'll skin the old man alive for this shit."

The dazed Sister reached behind her, and produced her "borrowed" rifle, which she'd apparently kept during her journey upon the back of the Network's Savior. She looked at it, momentarily, before she looked over either of her shoulders, and then set the firearm on the pavement's surface. Once she'd risen from her crouched position she'd fallen into, she clasped her hands behind her back and innocently looked upwards.

"Misaka has never seen this firearm in her considerably short life, Misaka remarks, rehearsing the line Misaka will eventually have to speak to the disapproving face of Yomikawa-Sama. Additionally, it seems that Misaka still can't reform her connection with the Network, Misaka explains, realizing this vital piece of information has been tacked-on. Misaka's mind is too empty for her liking, Misaka admits."

She was startled, suddenly; she certainly hadn't expected him, and she certainly didn't mind the action he'd chosen to perform.

Kamijou Touma had thrown his arms around the Sister, and had pulled her close to his icy cold form. The wings he seemed to be able to spawn at a whim had been unmade, slinking back into his form. The Sister was still confused by the Savior's new powers, or perhaps singular power, but she was less frightened. As he gently hugged her, she hugged him back.

He hugged her, because a part of him felt as if he was hugging Misaka Mikoto, the Railgun. This Sister obviously wasn't the original, but there was animal comfort found in the action. A greater part of him hugged her because another Sister had come dangerously close to being involved with the darkness once more, even after all that had transpired.

"You know something? You were really badass in there. The way you blasted Glubulus, not backing down for even a second? That was awesome. Didn't take unnecessary risks, either; smart AND courageous? That's a rare combination.

"Now I have one question for you, sweetheart. What are we going to do from here? Me? I'm going to have to lay low for a little while and avoid that place, let the dust settle and the insurance claims go through. A lot of people are going to be pissed at me, but that doesn't matter. You're safe, something terrible was prevented from happening to you, and that's all that matters."

"Misaka could return home, Misaka states," the Sister remarked. "Misaka would probably be fine, as Misaka must've been set upon during the later hours of evening. With the benefit of hindsight, Misaka knows that she shouldn't have been out in the dark, but Misaka felt like going for a walk due to the fact that her legs were becoming fidgety, Misaka explains, hoping that the Savior understands her thought process."

Though Kamijou Touma had broken away from the Sister, the being who'd once been a normal high school boy patted the Sister on her shoulder as he began to walk towards the parking area's closest exit. She followed, taking to Touma's side; there was safety in numbers, after all.

"You should be able to walk whenever you please, within reason of course, without having to worry about being fucki… without having to worry about being snatched like that. You're a human being with human rights, just as much as anyone else in this City," Touma stated, firmly, holding back the growl that wanted to leak into his vocalization. "Listen, sweetheart; I don't know if the old man's got eyes on us. If he does, he or one of his butt-buddies might try something shady, just to spite the both of us… do you live by yourself, or do you have a roommate, or roommates?"

The Sister nodded her head with an uncanny enthusiasm not shared by her emotionless facial expression.

"Misaka co-exists with another unit, serial number ten thousand and forty-three. Misaka and unit serial number ten thousand and forty-three co-exist with the Prototype and the Prototype's companion, Misaka explains, answering the Savior's question with as much accuracy as possible."

Though a sense of relief washed over Touma, there was something else there, as well; there was curiosity.

"The Prototype?" There was a living prototype for the Sisters? Kamijou Touma had never heard of such a thing. While worth investigating, such an intrusion of personal space wasn't on Touma's "to-do list".

"That's great, that's… that's really good. I'm glad you're not living by yourself. It's a lot more fun, and a lot safer to have people to share your home life with, isn't it?" Kamijou Touma inquired, as he and the Sister left the parking area behind. "I like living with people who're close to me, too."

Passing over a grassy knoll, and by an ornate, oaken planter, the two stepped out onto a brown, cobbled walkway, where traffic, pedestrian and vehicular alike passed the duo by. The chattering of so many students, engaging in so many different conversations about such a wide variety of topics nearly made the heads of both Kamijou Touma and Misaka ten thousand and twenty-eight to spin.

Then, the questions began, though none were directed at the duo.

"Is that the Railgun? Who's she with?"

"That IS the Railgun!"

"What's with the goggles?"

"I don't know, but he's handsome."

"Not really. I think she could do better."

"Maybe the goggles are a fashion statement? How exotic!"

"Maybe they're just friends, you weirdo."

Touma looked awkwardly to the Sister walking next to him, seemingly unfazed by the conversations suddenly cropping up about her, and by extension, about her Onee-Sama.

"So… how are things? Let's get you home… there is one thing I'm curious about, though. I know I'm not really in any position to ask questions."

"Perhaps the Savior and Misaka could engage in a session of question and response one day, in order to get to know one another better, Misaka suggests. Misaka would prefer it if this wasn't the end, Misaka admits, slightly embarrassed by her newfound and heightened admiration for the Savior."

Touma nodded and smiled at the Sister in response, as a slightly unnerving silence descended over the duo. He followed the Sister, who wordlessly began the process of taking the lead, while Touma quietly followed.

"It doesn't have to be the end. Good friends are hard to come by, you know. People you've known for years can suddenly become the biggest, sketchiest snakes on the face of the planet when your eyes are opened."

His question, of course, had been about the Level Six Experiments.

How had this Sister managed to escape the chopping block? The fact that she was a level one, some sort of "defective unit" seemed to be the most logical answer. What would Accelerator have gained from slaughtering a level one esper? Still, there was room for doubt, room which Kamijou Touma sought to fill with a truthful answer.

For over thirty minutes, Misaka ten thousand and twenty-eight as well as Kamijou Touma walked the curving, ornate walkways of Academy City, stopping at stoplights, avoiding traffic jams made up of irate and inattentive students, looking both ways before they crossed the street (though Touma had less to worry about when it came to being struck down by a careening four-wheel vehicle than the Sister) and only making brief instances of small talk.

Before long, the duo had arrived before a dainty little apartment complex. Only ten stories tall, its design was slender, colored a soft, milky white. Its windows, almost all of which were shining and beautifully cleaned reflected the sunlight's warm beams, which each pane of glass bathed in.

Turning to the Misaka Network's Savior, the Sister opened her arms, and took him into a friendly embrace, one which Touma happily returned.

"Misaka very much appreciates all of the Savior's assistance, and the Savior's efforts to assist Misaka in escaping from those who would have likely harmed her, Misaka explains, wishing for her gratitude to be conveyed properly to you; without the Savior's aid, Misaka's days could've very well been cut short, Misaka explains. Misaka hopes that the units she co-exists with will help Misaka reconnect to the Network, or otherwise help Misaka diagnose the error at hand, Misaka adds. Misaka hopes she and the Savior can engage in a session of question and response soon."

Touma was reluctant to let go. The Sister's form was warm and cuddly, like she was a big, biological teddy bear. Her hair smelled wonderful; the scent was of a green apple-scented shampoo, which had come to caress the Sister's roots. He soon managed to pull himself away, in order to avoid any potential awkwardness.

"I wasn't going to let an innocent person be used as a pawn," Touma stated. "I have… let's just say, for now, that I'm more powerful now than I ever was before. I'm not just limited to being a "high school boy" anymore. If I can use what I've been "given" to help out and save deserving lives where I can, I don't see a reason why I shouldn't do it. I can also use this to put those who'd do innocent people harm down… permanently.

"Like I said, all I have to do is lay low for a while and let the fact that I grievously wounded one of their goons and probably caused millions of yen in property damage blow over, and I can go back to playing with them, milking the sick pigs for everything they're worth. I'm not with them, sweetheart. I'm just as against them now as I always was. Things are just different, now."

The Sister rewarded Kamijou Touma with a small, thin smile before she took her leave, entering the entranceway before the lobby of her apartment complex, and then entering the lobby itself; she'd zapped the electric lock on the inner door, and then closed said door shut behind her, ensuring that it clicked back into place. All the while, the Misaka Network's Savior kept an eye on the Sister, observing everything around her, and constantly checking over his shoulder.

It was only once the Sister disappeared into a set doors mounted within the sparsely-furnished lobby's rightmost wall, which must've belonged to an elevator car that Kamijou Touma took his own leave.

There was a reality that set upon Kamijou Touma like a housecat might set upon the form of an unsuspecting, trespassing insect; there was someone who needed to know about what'd happened, and they needed to know about it as soon as they could be informed.

She wouldn't like to hear it, but she'd have to, and she'd have to listen.

Rather than causing more property damage and potentially marking the apartment complex out to those who would do the Sister, or people like the Sister harm, Kamijou Touma called forth his wings of machine-phase matter, and took to the skies, his form humming mechanically as the nanorobots which made up his form obeyed his silent, internal command.

Sometimes, being a monster had its advantages.


	8. Some Complications

Initially, Kamijou Touma's own internal sense of direction had abandoned him; he hadn't "forgotten" the way to Tokiwadai Middle School, but the route his suddenly less-than-omniscient data had told him to take was considerably more convoluted and time-consuming than the route he'd always taken.

For once, he'd one-upped the machines, or himself, Touma wasn't sure exactly which he'd conquered. In a manner of speaking, he still felt like the loser in whatever cosmic game he was a part of; in the end, it was he who'd wound up captured, put through pain beyond the comprehensions of most and turned into some ungodly, unsleeping, restless and nigh-unstoppable monster.

Touma was suddenly aware that thousand, if not hundreds of thousands, if not millions of other people around the little, insignificant blue, white and green globe yearned for the kind of power that'd been bestowed upon him.

Touma quickly snapped himself out of his fit of self-depreciation; it hadn't done anything for him in the past, and it certainly wasn't going to do anything for him in the present. If anything, being pessimistic and allowing himself to become lost in a pity party of his own design was incredibly counterproductive.

Ignoring his data's silent recommendations, even as influxes 'informed' him again and again that he was making the wrong decision, on traffic climate and matters of time consumption, Kamijou Touma beat his wings against the air and soared to the south, unsure of what sort of traffic the influxes of data were silently speaking about. The skies were empty, of both birds and airborne constructs of mankind's own design.

He passed over the area where Misawa Cram School had one stood, prior to the devastating Gregorian Chant that had torn it asunder, like tissue paper being parted by a pair of scissors' sharpened blades. There were no ruins remaining; rather, the area had been paved over, with a number of benches and vending machines set in place, making the area seem like an innocuous setting for faculty and students to sit and relax, as if nothing had ever been on that plot of land.

Academy City was good with scavenger hunts; so good that nobody who wasn't "in the know" even knew said hunts were taking place, or had ever taken place.

Beneath him, the cityscape seemed a lot smaller, and a lot farther away from him than it was. The wind repeatedly battered him and threatened to knock him from its domain, but Kamijou Touma held out, responding by ordering his wings of machine-phase matter to beat harder and faster against the air, as if to physically assault it.

Before long, the forbidden area known to the male population as School Garden was in sight. If Academy City was a walled-off cult of personality, and that it certainly was by Kamijou Touma's standards, then School Garden was a cult of personality within a cult of personality.

The miniature district's architecture differed greatly from most found within Academy City's walls; the structures were more like something out of Victorian era England than from a futuristic City of Science nestled in a Far Eastern island nation. The walkways and roadways themselves were greatly different from those found within Academy City, being far more ornately-designed, and much more colorful.

What was more important than the stunning appearance of School Garden were the precautions that Kamijou Touma had to take within this sacred garden of fertility, tea and teenaged angst.

Outwardly, at least, he was a boy, a male, and he possessed a semi-functional set of male reproductive organs, when he wanted them to be present.

This was unacceptable within School Garden.

Touma scouted the urban landscape below him, searching for an area free of onlookers. While School Garden was seemingly less populated than it normally was, likely due to the fact that the school day had come to a close, there were still roaming packs of pre-teen and teenaged girls wandering about, pounding the pavement and generally having a seemingly carefree time. Kamijou Touma knew well enough, however, that looks could be deceiving.

There was one lot which seemed to be depopulated; at the very least, there weren't many cars present within the lot, and bystander presence seemed minimal. Though not a particularly large lot, it would have to do, unless looks had once again been deceiving.

As his wings beat against the air, backwards and then forwards, rather than forwards and then backwards, in order to reduce his momentum, Touma touched down upon the unblemished pavement of the lot, coming to a halt quite gracefully.

The lot he'd landed in apparently belonged to a small strip mall, complete with a tanning salon, a rather well-to-do clothing shop, a small, seemingly independently-owned coffee shop, "H0t Cupz", a name unrecognized to Touma, and a self-serve laundromat. Two of these four structures weren't open, without anyone available to do business; the clothing shop and the tanning salon's windows were shuddered, their doors given an extra layer of protection by heavy, reinforced metallic beams set in place behind them, within their respective shops.

Looking over his shoulder, Kamijou Touma snuck himself around behind the strip mall, where he would be further safe from prying eyes, as the wings upon his back were dispelled. The strip mall's rear was surrounded by a tall fence, constructed with planks of wood to serve as an additional level of privacy.

There was no privacy to be found even there, however.

Standing just beyond a door which lead out from the rear side of the coffee shop were two young women, each clad in identical uniforms. Entirely white in coloration, each wore a long, green apron over their uniforms, with a small clover-shaped emblem in their respective centers, as white as their uniforms. One of these young women had dark-colored hair, tied up in a messy bun, while the other wore her straightened, golden-colored hair down.

Touma clicked his tongue in annoyance, but didn't immediately retreat.

Rather than conspicuously peaking his head around the corner, the once-normal high school student sent a singular, microscopic nanorobotic instance forward, in order to collect information on the girls' conversation. Perhaps they'd be leaving sooner than later?

"Swear to God," the dark-haired young woman spat, "if those… IDIOTS… in there don't shut that kid the FUCK… UP… I'm legitimately going to hang myself in the bathroom."

The blonde-haired young woman shook her head in disapproval, as she took a drag of her cigarette.

"Chill! You're not acting much better by throwing your own little mini-fit. You're wigging out over nothing! It's just a little kid! They'll probably be leaving soon, and then we won't have to deal with it. Don't forget, hon, we have nice, quiet dorms waiting for us, not screaming children."

She cussed under her breath for a few moments before she replied to her blonde compatriot's words of wisdom, which Touma found himself agreeing with.

"Never having kids. NEVER. Getting my FUCKING tubes tied."

"Right, hon. You and me both. Stretch marks are for… "suckas."

The first of these young women tossed what remained of her own cancer stick to the ground, and snuffed it out with her shoe, before she turned towards the door. Curiosity had gotten the better of Touma, and his nanorobotic unit had touched down upon her skin.

It became almost immediately apparent that the frustrated young woman was an absolute mess, both inside and out.

Her heart was beating far too quickly for her own good, and her blood was practically boiling within her veins. The chemicals in her brain were being pumped out almost too quickly for her body to produce more of them, resulting in violent, potentially bothersome thoughts. Her blood sugar levels had dropped quite exponentially, and, worst of all, the young woman was both dehydrated and starved.

A "normal" life must've truly been the shits.

"Well, back to Hell," the dark-haired young woman grumbled. "Not enough butts in the world to get me through this. And your mother wonders why we drink. Telling you, if she lived one day in our shoes, she'd be straight tripping her middle class suburban ass off."

"Unwind, you maniac," the blonde spoke, with a slight chuckle. "I don't want you to be on the news for baby-killing… oh my, that's actually really morbid. You're rubbing off on me, freak! And don't run your mouth about my mom! My mother is a saint!"

As both young women returned to the coffee shop from whence they'd evidently emerged, the door closing behind them, Touma's nanorobotic instance turned personal espionage device swiftly returned to its main mass, nestling itself back into place in Touma's neck.

With the clearing of the bystanders, whose reactions to what sort of feat Kamijou Touma was about to perform likely would've been anything but subdued, Touma was free to attempt what he'd only succeeded at less than half of a dozen times prior to the present. He could only hope that he'd be able to add this newest attempt to his short list of successes.

Within his thoughts, his own thoughts, free of the omniscient, but not quite omniscient, domineering data that had become one with him, his mind's eye generated the image of a generic young woman. This non-existent woman possessed short hair, colored like the darkest lump of charcoal one could pry from within a pile, dark irises, skin with a light pigmentation, and a naturally curvy, but not ridiculously proportioned shape.

Kamijou Touma's outer layer of nanorobotic machine-phase matter buzzed around him, as it began to swarm and leap away, exposing his 'skinless' form. Within mere seconds, however, it'd leaped right back from where it'd fled.

The outer layer had changed its shape and appearance. No longer did Kamijou Touma appear male. No longer was Kamijou Touma even Kamijou Touma.

Shaking her head from side to side, and watching as her short bangs danced from one side to the other, with their small, simplistic clips in their respective centers, Kamijou Touma had taken on the guise of "Inoue Ayano".

Adorned in the elegant and proper winter uniform issued by Tokiwadai Middle School, Inoue Ayano was able to leave the strip mall behind, safely walking among the other young women of School Garden, who didn't so much as bat an eye in her direction. She'd become part of the herd, just another girl among thousands.

The reality that he could do terrible, unspeakably evil things and get away with it passed through Kamijou Touma's synthetic thoughts, but he paid no mind to these unwanted musings. It wasn't like he was actually going to. He'd have no reason to harm anyone in School Garden. He'd never do anything like that. Never…

Kamijou Touma hoped he'd never do anything like that.

Her walk from point A to point B was rather uneventful, though Inoue Ayano repeatedly found herself dancing closer and closer to the edge of paranoia, growing ever more fearful of being exposed as a fraud. Every half-smile, simple glance or polite nod set her off; did they know something? Could they see through her, and to Kamijou Touma who dwelled beneath the outer layer of false, synthetic machine-phase matter made to look like flesh?

Soon enough, as if his legs had carried her faster than he'd thought they could, Inoue Ayano arrived before the great, and proverbially ironclad gateway of Tokiwadai Middle School, which barred her way, and prevented her from entering. The massive, ornate and almost palace-like structure and its grand promenade loomed oppressively beyond the gateway and its tall, pointed fences.

Inoue Ayano wouldn't be kept out for long.

She walked forward, looking over either of her shoulders, as her loafer-clad feet touched down upon the perfect, unblemished miniature grasslands which surrounded the gateway and its oppressive fences. As she did so, Kamijou Touma beneath her decreased his form's density with a silent, manual command. His nanorobotic machine-phase matter obeyed without question, and his form's density lowered, and lowered, and _lowered_.

Directly through the fence Inoue Ayano walked, almost resembling a kids' holiday special's depiction of a ghostly apparition. Once on the other side, Kamijou Touma manually reset his form's mass with a simple, silent command.

Despite its apparent adoration for defying him and rebelling against him at the worst of times, Touma's nanorobotic form seemed to be obedient when it wished to be.

Though she lacked a smartphone, given that the device sat untouched and often unused on the desk in the dorm she shared with a little silver-haired nun and a being that'd once been an all-powerful, infallible Magic God, Inoue Ayano didn't need one; Ayano's "person of interest" would have to deal with her dropping in unannounced.

While Inoue Ayano's "person of interest" would've normally been found within her room in the Tokiwadai Middle School Dormitory, beyond the confines of School Garden and separate from the Middle School itself, Ayano knew for certain that her "person of interest" would almost certainly be found within Tokiwadai Middle School's library, studying her young years away. It was almost regrettable.

Soon, the grand, ornate doorway of Tokiwadai Middle School was opened, pushed inwards as it produced not even a singular creak or groan. It was almost as if the door's hinges were outright incapable of being flawed in any way, shape or form, as if such a thing would be absolutely, positively, and undeniably inadmissible.

Already, the oppressive air within the Middle School's halls practically choked Kamijou Touma, beneath the smiling, sparkly-eyed façade of Inoue Ayano. He didn't literally choke only because he lacked a set of lungs, functioning or otherwise.

The soles and heels of Ayano's buckled loafers clacked and clicked against the carpeted flooring, and even against the tiled flooring beneath the soft, warm carpeting. The shined walling, constructed of the finest wood materials glowed like the interior of some hollowed treasury, as if Tokiwadai Middle School was less of a place of education and more of a hallowed, sacred temple. The grandeur windows that dotted the twisting, winding halls of Tokiwadai Middle School permitted the sun's warm rays to enter the oppressive halls, and allowed for them to bathe the carpeting in their soft, golden glows.

Quickly, and with swiftness unmatchable by the average human being (even what "average" meant within the walls of Academy City), Inoue Ayano sidestepped a trio of well-dressed, seemingly carefree, and haughty-seeming young women, each garbed in the Middle School's winter uniform, which not only accented, but also emphasized their impressive features; Kamijou Touma, beneath Inoue Ayano suddenly had to remind himself that no good could come of perving over middle schoolers.

Or would it? He wasn't eighteen. He hadn't been before his transformation. Could he even have an age, still? Touma didn't quite know.

"F-forgive me!" the first of these young women exclaimed, bowing politely before Ayano. Her hair was dark, almost as dark as Ayano's own. Her hair's bangs were parted, exposing a brow that could've challenged Fukiyose Seiri's "Fukiyose Forehead Deluxe".

"You poor thing, we almost crashed _right_ into you! Please, excuse our tardiness. It certainly won't occur again!"

The young woman's compatriots, one on either side of her, were both oddly, and by the standards of the being that laid beneath the façade known as Inoue Ayano, almost eerily quiet. While one had dark, almost purplish-colored hair, long and trailing down her back and along either of her shoulders, with soft irises to match her hair's coloration, the other's hair was shorter, and much lighter, a shade of dark blonde, looking to be naturally curled. She seemed innocent, like the sweetest little fairy from some old folktale. There was a soft, pink-colored blush present on either of her cheeks. While the first girl's eyes looked straight forward, the second girl's eyes looked down, towards the carpeting beneath the trio's feet.

Inoue Ayano merely tilted her head to one side in response, as if she was confused. The being beneath the façade would have to play the character of "ditzy schoolgirl", and he'd have to play it well.

"U-uh… n-no problem, really! T-these things… happen?"

Her voice was unnaturally deep, like that of a male's. Something was going wrong, and it was going wrong at the worst of times, which seemed like it was becoming a trend. Kamijou Touma's vocalizations should've become higher as soon as his outer layer of machine-phase matter shifted its appearance by themselves, simply by association. He'd certainly learned his lesson about not performing all of his feats manually.

The being beneath Inoue Ayano would need to think fast.

"I'm… I'm transitioning…? I-I'm actually just starting hormone treatment. That's w-why my voice sounds so deep…"

It was worth a shot, at least.

It was then that the apparent ringleader of this ragtag group of rich young women lunged forward, and took either of Inoue Ayano's hands into her own, which caused a shiver to travel down the ringleader's form, from her arms and down to her toes. This mystery student with the short, charcoal-colored hair was cold as ice to the touch, as if she was made of some metallic substance, and not of warm, biological flesh.

Kongou Mitsuko has never felt anything so cold in her life. Still, she wasn't about to come off as rude to this stranger, this minority, whose life must've been one of swirling dysphoria.

"You are so brave. You're such a beautiful _girl_. Show the world what you're made of, you beautiful being. You're loved."

With a nod and a kiss blown in Inoue Ayano's direction, "forehead girl" and her posse took their leave, walking in the direction opposite of Ayano.

"She is SO brave!", "forehead girl" quipped. "I don't think I've seen her before though. Is she new? A transfer student maybe?"

"She's very attractive, as well," the girl with the dark blonde hair commented. "We should invite her out sometime. I wonder if she only just recently started to come out?"

The conversation very likely continued, but the trio soon turned a corner and moved out of earshot; Kamijou Touma could've sent a nanorobotic unit to stalk them and gather additional information, perhaps a name or an age – merely for the sake of research, of course – but there were more important matters at hand.

At least the "transitioning" shtick had stuck well enough.

For some time, she continued on her way. Inoue Ayano passed through many more twisting corridors, slowly growing more comfortable with her surroundings as she spent more time within them. Though much of the Middle School's interiors looked identical to one another, right down to the number of classroom doorways that lined the sections of walling, an internal compass, and her data's own silent recommendations both acted as guides.

Soon, Inoue Ayano, with Kamijou Touma underneath the façade arrived before several sets of tall, ornately-carved and beautifully-designed oaken doors. Rather than pushing these doors inwards, Ayano pulled on the set nearest to her form, which caused them to silently and smoothly open, without a sound and with little resistance; despite their size, they weighed very little.

Alternatively, Inoue Ayano simply didn't know her form's own strength.

The library beyond this set of doorways would've made a studious, eccentric mountain-dweller flip his lid, and cream his pants.

So many wide, tall oaken bookshelves lined the upper floor of the library, while numerous desks, complete with a set of four throne-like chairs, two to each side of every individual desk sat below the upper floor. The lower floor was accessed by two great wooden staircases, each step of which had been shined and waxed to the point of obsessiveness, and absurdity.

While, on the lower floor, Inoue Ayano's "person of interest" was indeed present, there was one issue that presented itself. She wasn't alone. Three other young women sat at the same table as the "person of interest", though two of these three individuals didn't wear the same uniform as the first of the three. The being underneath Inoue Ayano was surprised that these outsiders had been allowed in at all.

One was immediately identified as Shirai Kuroko, by her tawny hair, styled into two long, flowing pigtails, bound with red ribbons. The other had long, straight dark hair, clad in a more simplistically-styled, traditional school uniform, while the third was adorned in the same uniform, with shorter, even darker-colored hair, with a piece of floral headgear, a band of blooming, likely artificial (but possibly living) flowers. These outsiders sat with their respective backs to Ayano, while Shirai Kuroko faced the newcomer, who was only beginning to descend the leftmost staircase with careful, precise movements.

"Onee-Sama? Why is the compet… why is Inoue-san here? N-not that I mind or anything. No, not at all! Eheh…"

Both of the outsiders turned to face Inoue Ayano; while the flower girl only smiled and then turned away, returning to her revived conversation with Shirai Kuroko, the dark-haired girl with the small, white flower pinned to her hair's left side both smiled widely and happily waved in Ayano's direction.

The flower girl with the long, dark hair rivalled even Misaka Mikoto in her beauty. Her eyes were big and round, full of life. Her soft-looking skin wasn't too pale, nor was it tanned to the point of making her look like a foreigner. It was perfect, as were her small hands, one of which had waved in Inoue Ayano's direction for a considerable amount of time before it'd returned to its owner's lap, with the adjacent arm. She seemed so friendly just through her body language.

Even from where she was, Inoue Ayano could see that her "person of interest" was not just shocked, but frustrated as well. The tomboyish student gritted her teeth at the sight of Ayano, whom she knew wasn't even a real person, but merely a façade. This "person of interest" was one of few privy to the true identity of Inoue Ayano.

Misaka Mikoto was obviously not pleased to see the walking façade.

"I have no idea, Kuroko… but I'm _going_ to find out," the Railgun grumbled, trying her absolute best – and failing – to appear happily surprised. Rising from her seat at the table, the tomboyish Tokiwadai student quickly closed the distance between herself and the newcomer, who smiled innocently in the Railgun's direction, her head tilted to one side.

The fact that he'd mastered the "ditzy schoolgirl" persona just pissed Mikoto off even more.

"You Idiot. You Idiot, you Idiot, you Idiot," Misaka Mikoto whispered harshly and aggressively, standing only a few inches away from Inoue Ayano. "What are you even doing here? What did I fucki… I told you not to come here! Listen to people when they tell you something, you Idiot!"

Her voice softened slightly.

"It's for your own good, and for mine."

Inoue Ayano simple smiled on, producing a small, innocent giggle as she looked down at Misaka Mikoto.

"Care to walk with me? Just a little… ladies' time alone?" Ayano whispered in Kamijou Touma's voice, which caused Mikoto to slap the palm of her hand against her face. She shook her head from side to side as she groaned; he really was the King of all Idiots.

"It's actually important. I'm not just here to fuck with you or your cute friends. That was a joke, by the way. Don't zap me. They are cute though. Except Shirai, not quite my type. It's the personality that's the killer, there."

She produced a guttural growl for a few moments, before she flicked her hand away from her face. Mikoto swiftly gathered what remained of her wits, and put on the best carefree poker fact that she could. Turning back to face Shirai Kuroko and the two outsiders, Mikoto took a few steps forward, in their direction.

"You're unbearable sometimes.

"I'll be right back, guys! Inoue-san and I are just going to talk about something really quickly. It's private, though, so please don't try and follow us… Kuroko."

"I've no idea what you're talking about, Onee-Sama," Kuroko stated, her head held high. She huffed, as she folded either of her arms across her chest. "As long as you're not involving yourself in dangerous business, I have no reason to keep tabs on you."

With a shrug of her shoulders, Mikoto ironically shouldered right past Inoue Ayano, who followed behind her, as both began to ascend the staircase which Ayano had descended.

Kamijou Touma, beneath Inoue Ayano remained behind the Railgun. Even if she was a few years younger than he was, and even if she was a tomboyish, aggressive little thing, she had quite the posterior on her; the winter uniform's skirt helped to accent it, as well, as it seemed to be considerably tighter on Mikoto's attractive form than the Middle School's summer skirt.

He needed something to keep him going, after all. There wasn't anything inherently wrong with checking out cute girls, and Misaka Mikoto most certainly fell into the cute category. Even if she was a maniac.

Except she wasn't. She wasn't a maniac. She had her troubles, sure, but she wasn't a maniac. Who didn't have their troubles? Who didn't suffer from momentary lapses in their mental and emotional stability?

The doors opposite those which Inoue Ayano had entered from were opened, and not held open for her by Misaka Mikoto, who simply grunted as she stepped out into the hallway.

She was a fast learner; Mikoto looked from end of the hallway to the other. Once the coast was deemed clear, she moved in towards the being who apparently had good reason for seeking her out.

"For your sake, Idiot, you'd better have a good reason for seeking me out."

"Woah, let's slow it down with the name-calling, 'kay? I do. I…"

"Okay. You're unfathomable, you know that? First, you tell me that you… that you lo… have feelings for me, which is fine, I guess, but then you go and pull stunts like this. I don't get you! You could've texted me. How hard would that've been? I know you care, but when you pull stunts like this, it irks me a lot."

The urge to simply take Misaka Mikoto into his arms, and hold her, and apologize profusely for what had been a necessary evil was nearly overwhelming. His omniscient, yet not omniscient data continuously told him that was the exact route he should've taken, the proper path to walk in order to ensure his continued place at the Railgun's side; but the Railgun had her pride, and she had a reputation to uphold, and he wasn't about to disrespect her desire to uphold that pride, and that reputation.

Case in point, being held by another girl outside of the library wouldn't have done any wonders for Mikoto's reputation, or for her pride.

"Hello?! Are you listening to me, you Idio… I mean, you… person!? You frustrate me… SO… much."

Inoue Ayano shoved either of her hands into her skirt's pockets. The being beneath the walking façade suddenly wanted to kiss that bug-zapper, too. He wanted to kiss her lips and shush her up for a moment, maybe wrap his arms around her waist and push her up against the nearest wall. His ferocity, and his white-hot desire were almost human things, perhaps remnants, leftovers.

"Zapperella, I'm sorry. Okay? There. I said it. I'm sorry for not texting you or messaging you beforehand. I can't carry a cellular device right now and what just happened is urgent. You need to hear this."

"Zapperella"? Are you serious, right now? This isn't some kind of joke? I'm actually going to hit you… you… you… no, I'm not going to do that…"

But Mikoto softened once Kamijou Touma, beneath the façade, began to spill the beans. He spoke of the surreal flashback to the Level Six Experiments, the assistance he provided to the level one Sister, Misaka ten thousand and twenty-eight, and of 'him' – Kihara Gensei. Touma spoke to Misaka Mikoto about the machinations of Kihara Gensei with as much detail as he could safely impart to her.

"I'm going to tell you the same thing I told your Sister," Touma remarked, placing either of his façade's hands desperately upon the Railgun's shoulders. "I'm NOT with him, I'm against them, like I've always been, like we've always been. I'm just waiting for the right opportunity so everything can fall into place, and I can strike between their armor. I'm using them, Misaka."

Mikoto had moved away, her back pressed against the adjacent section of walling. A golden ray of sunlight beamed down upon the Railgun through a windowpane above her. Misaka Mikoto's hair was doused in shining light, accenting it and adding to the chestnut brown coloration with its own hues. The light danced across her soft facial features.

Standing there, with one knee pushed forward, and her arms folded across her chest, Mikoto tossed her head back, causing her hair's fringe and its bangs to flutter, as if they'd been hit by a burst of air. With every second that he looked at her, and into her big, brown irises, Kamijou Touma was forced to face a fact that had been following behind him and tugging on his proverbial coattails like a demanding child. It was something that couldn't be denied, not as he looked upon her, at least.

He was in love with her.

But the feeling wasn't exclusively limited to Misaka Mikoto. He was in love with the being who'd once been an infallible Magic God in a different way, and through different circumstances. He loved the silver-haired nun, she who'd memorized over one hundred thousand Grimoires, in another, different way, and through even stranger, but equally different circumstances, and he loved the older woman who treated him with the utmost respect, the woman known to most only as "Beauty-Senpai". What was he to do?

"I should be the one apologizing."

She'd broken the silence, and caused the walking façade, Inoue Ayano, to tilt her head to one side, as her conspicuously male voice produced a curious "hm?"

"After everything you've done, I shouldn't be calling you names, and I shouldn't be snapping at you, it's ungrateful and it's disgusting for me to do that. I'm going through a lot right now, I'm… shit, I'm… I feel like I'm knee-deep in shit, and everything's just… fucking up left and right. My grades are starting to drop, I need to get a fucking grip before I lose everything.

"And here I am, ranting to you about it, when you were just trying to do a good thing. Thanks… for letting me know that she's safe now. You obviously had your reasons for upping and disappearing before, I can't and won't hold that against you. I'm… I'm glad to see you. I'm sorry… for being a dick to you. For all the times I've been a dick to you."

Before he'd take his leave, Kamijou Touma had one last order of business to see to. There was one last topic of conversation that he'd burden the troubled Misaka Mikoto with.

"Misaka. Hey, don't get down on yourself like that. I'm all over the place, just like you, but my head's fully in the gutter. You'll get yourself out before long, and maybe I will too, huh? But even if I have to keep secrets, I think… I can't say a lot about it, but things are different now with me, Misaka. I don't have to push everyone away from me anymore. I don't want to do that, running around doing this crazy shit by myself, it'd be enough to make anyone feel really fucking _lonely_. It was all kind of fucked up too, right? To just assume everyone around me was so… weak? That they couldn't defend themselves, that I'd always have to be there to save the day? It was disgusting of me to think like that, especially of someone like you.

"What I'm trying to say is that I'm done with that shit, it's over, finished, pow. No more. I know we already sort of had this conversation, but… the way I ended it last time might not have been completely appropriate. What do you think, Misaka? Maybe, in the near future, would you consider… _it_? Even just an evening like that, with, you know, that as the set tone. It'd be a little bit different, but it'd be… kind of… erm, the same. I guess. Do you get my point? Not coming on too fast here am I?"

Mikoto produced a chuckle. Though it was a brief thing, that quickly died as soon as it'd gained life, it was something; Touma had seen a moment of genuine positivity in the Railgun, for a fleeting second.

"No, no you're not. I'll need to get back to you on that. I'm not in any position to even consider it right now… but I do love you too. I have for a while. Don't think of this as a rejection, because it's n-not, I swear it's not! I'm definitely not turning you down! I promise. I promise I'm not being a dick, or a bitch, or anything, I hope it doesn't come off like that because that it NOT what I'm trying to do I gotta get my head straight… just got to get everything straightened out first."

"I dig. I really do understand, Misaka. Bein' honest doesn't make you a "dick" or a "bitch", so don't get all freaked out. I'll always be around, regardless of how it is between us, it's all casual."

For a few moments, both Misaka Mikoto and Kamijou Touma, beneath Inoue Ayano, stood across from one another as silence descended, claiming all things as its own domain and suddenly ruling with a tightened iron fist.

"It was good seeing you too, Misaka. Would it be corny as shit if I was to say something like "I miss you", or, "hey, you look good"? Because both of those are totally true."

"It'd be very corny, but that wouldn't make either of "those" bad, or unwelcome… just never figured you to be a loverboy, that's all."

"You could say my name, you know, Misaka."

She raised an eyebrow at that, Mikoto breathed a sigh. There he went, just as he was drifting into the territory that came close to making her heart melt in her chest; he'd gone full Idiot again.

"Who goes around calling their friends by their names all the time?" Mikoto inquired, quite skeptically. She pushed herself away from the wall which she'd been balancing against, as she neared the library's grand oaken doors. "That's really weird; but I guess that wouldn't be out of character for an Idio… weirdo like you."

"Oi. You tryin' to sway your hips like that? Or is this some subconscious development that neither of us is aware of?"

"D-don't look at me like that."

"I can't help it."

Mikoto shook her head, just as she grasped onto the handlebars of one of the oaken doors before her. A singular, streaking bolt of electricity jumped from the Railgun's forehead as she gritted her teeth for a moment, before she seemingly cooled down.

"Y'know? I can appreciate the fact that you're staying consistent with the signals you're sending me, and not being all weird and throwing around mixed signals like you used to; 'least I think you used to. Maybe you weren't doing it on purpose, whatever. Just… I need some time before I consider anything like that."

"It was a joke… well, a half-joke. Don't take me so seriously. I wasn't trying to make you uncomfortable. Sorry. I should probably just take off before I overstay my welcome. Take care of yourself, Misaka."

"You too… Touma. Text me, or message me on EyeSee, or something, if you can't text. I miss you too."

Kamijou Touma was going to leave on a high note; what a development, indeed. Both Misaka Mikoto and the façade that was Inoue Ayano parted ways.

* * *

At least, unlike a certain Saint of the Far East, Barcode Boy had actually learned how to operate a cellular phone beyond its most basic levels of function. Tsuchimikado Motoharu had to thank his lucky stars, or what his compatriots called "God" for that.

"Whatsit now, Barcode Boy? You know these are my private hours. You could've caught me in any number of revealing situations… an accidental pervert moment, if you will. No, seriously. What the fuck do you people want from me now? Spit it out."

On the other end of the line, a wordless groan was produced; Motoharu could only impishly grin, as the frustrated vocalization, emitted from the Backstabbing Blade's cellular phone resounded throughout his silent dorm.

"Kanzaki Kaori's Amakusan allies have picked up a new lead on the whereabouts of the artifact."

That perked the Backstabbing Blade's interest; at least the ginger-haired, barcoded and unnaturally tall freak of nature actually had some sort of important news to impart, rather than the usual, only semi-coherent and idiotically cryptic ramblings delivered from the cum-gargling mouth of Necessarius' Archbishop.

"Yeah? And I've got my hands full here, Barcode Boy. Keeping tabs on who Kami-yan's going to make disappear next isn't fucking easy. Plus, I've still got eyes on that bazaar. Didn't seem like a "front for the prelude of an invasion attempt" to Karasuma, just old folks trying to peddle their wares, or some shit. If the situation's not sketchy to her, it's not sketchy to me."

"The Archbishop has already requested a thorough investigation. Has one been conducted, Tsuchimikado? The truth. For both our sakes."

It was Motoharu's turn to groan. He leaned back in his seat, his dorm's raggedy old couch screeching as its inner workings and rusted, metallic springs folded and bucked beneath his weight. At least Maika tried her best to keep the place clean. At least he'd always have his sweet, innocent little Maika.

"No, a "thorough investigation" wasn't fucking conducted. Why doesn't she do it herself, if it's such a big fucking deal to her?

"Listen, distract me, Barcode Boy. What've nee-chin's army of babes learned about whatchamacallit's whatsitnow? I'll get word to Karasuma regarding an investigation, but she won't be able to do it by herself, and I've got more personal business to deal with. Maybe she can take Kami-yan? She might be able to make that pathetic psychopath useful for a bit."

"Very well," Stiyl Magnus relented. On the other end of the line, he paused for a moment to inhale, taking in a great plume of inky-colored smoke, produced by the cancer stick his hand protectively gripped. Stiyl retained this plume of poisonous gas for some few moments before he released it into the atmosphere.

"The artifact is currently in the possession of the Dawn-Colored Sunlight, who evidently managed to out-maneuver Kanzaki Kaori's Amakusans. This, however, was the only purchase made by the cabal through the Indonesian underground market in question. Odd, given the presence of enough firearms to greatly pleasure a doomsday survivalist's fancy…"

There was one question within the Backstabbing Blade's higher consciousness, something which floated above his other thoughts and claimed a greater level of importance: why did the Archbishop crave this "artifact" (if it even was one) whose name wasn't even known to Necessarius so deeply? The images received from a 'persuaded' contact within the Indonesian underground market's trafficking posse contained little more than some sort of ornate jar, with funny-looking markings scrawled along its surfaces, mostly consisting of arrows and hastily-scribbled cubes; likely something torn from some ancient Egyptian tomb, otherwise unremarkable.

Why, then, did Laura Stuart lust so deeply after it? Tsuchimikado Motoharu needed answers that he knew he wasn't going to easily obtain.

"What about this Jack shithead? Leads on him? He could be with the fuckin' weirdos."

Though Motoharu couldn't see it, Stiyl Magnus shrugged. Beside him, Archbishop Laura Stuart quietly giggled to herself; the Backstabbing Blade's concern was almost amusing. The ageless, golden-haired beauty rested her head against Magnus' shoulder, resulting in a blush to form on either of his cheeks, as bright and as red as the dyed hair upon his head.

Within the Archbishop's Park, there were no wandering eyes to gaze questioningly upon them.

"Spring-heeled Jack", or whomever may be taking the guise of "Spring-heeled Jack" could be acting as a distraction for the cabal. Alternatively, the possibility of this "Jack" persona acting in the interests of another unknown party also exists. The Archbishop's "low priority, low alert" stance remains in place regarding this person, human or otherwise.

"Our stance remains the same, especially with the string of Indonesian transactions the Amakusans have uncovered. We're to intercept the Dawn-Colored Sunlight, who, in their infinite wisdom left a clear trail of transactions, including airline ticket purchase history to follow. They've fled with the artifact into Welsh territory… hold a moment, spy."

As the opposing cellular device was passed from one individual to another, the soft, cunning giggling, projected from within his phone's external speaker made Tsuchimikado Motoharu's stomach churn in his stomach, as it caressed, yet, paradoxically stabbed at the inside of his rightmost ear cannel. Pleasure and pain became one unknown variable, something that could be born only of the physically pleasing siren known as Laura Stuart.

"Tsuchimikado-san! Ah, this is delightful. Simply delightful; it's been so long since I've heard your voice! Speak for me, please."

The Backstabbing Blade could only click his tongue in disapproval.

"That's not talking, Tsuchimikado-san. My, my; you really have developed quite the edge. I don't think I like this very much. You need to scrub, scrub, scrub that edge away! Chiu, chiu, chiu~!"

"The fuck do you want from me?"

"My, my, how fierce~! I quite enjoy it.

"You'll abandon your current duties to ensure that the artifact, this "Satan's Sphinx" as the locals called it, whatever it might be, is delivered safely into Necessarius' custody. Bring the Index Librorum Prohibitorum's keeper along with you, along with our lovely little field agent, Karasuma Fran. His newfound… strengths could be quite useful in your journey, as will Karasuma Fran's talents. Should he refuse or otherwise resist, do remind him that I, and I alone have true custody of the Index Librorum Prohibitorum, and that, at any time, I can forcibly return it to my side. That should get Kamijou-chan in working order~!"

A chill ran down the Backstabbing Blade's spine, as Archbishop Laura Stuart's tone of voice perpetually continued to deepen, becoming oddly intimidating. Even from thousands of miles away, and across an entire ocean, Laura's influence could touch the cold, armored heart of one who'd faced death, and spat in its face, time and time again. She touched it, and pierced it with a single blackened fingernail, as dark as night. The vision forcibly projected into Motoharu's mind was troubling, but not outright crippling.

"Do you have any idea what you've just asked me to do? Do you even know what he is? He's Hell walking on Earth. He's…"

"Well, ta-ta for now, spy-san! Do supply regular progress reports, please and thank you! Good-bye~! Farewell~!"

Tsuchimikado Motoharu might as well have been given the death sentence. He growled under his breath, as he leaned forward in his seat, his connection to Stiyl Magnus and Archbishop Laura Stuart terminated. Resting his chin in his right hand's palm, the Backstabbing Blade sat quietly, and contemplated.

" _Fuck. My. Life."_


	9. A Series of Imbalances

Following a dull and particularly uneventful trip, Kamijou Touma had found his way to his dormitory. He considered it a blessing that the building hadn't been blown up or surrounded by crazed magicians who either wanted to jump his bones, kill him or engage in both of those activities.

Just as it always had, the dormitory stood tall and just a bit less than proud, given that it was hardly the epicenter of Academy City's wealthier youth.

The eight-story structure was quite run-down, in fact. At the very least, the power hadn't been knocked out; many of the windows dotting the structure were awash in synthetic golden light, though in the natural waning daylight there wasn't much of the synthetic light to be seen beyond the panes themselves.

Kamijou Touma made the lengthy and unsatisfying trip into the dormitory's lobby and deep into the blackened stairwell, then up through the darkened staircase within. Along the way he encountered a number of abandoned textbooks, suggesting that someone had fallen victim to the inky blackness. He understood this unknown individual's frustration, if frustration was indeed what lead to the textbooks' abandonment. Perhaps it was garbage that'd been thrown away by someone too ignorant to place it into a dustbin.

Through the required door Kamijou Touma walked, phasing directly through and then beyond the thick, metallic blockade by shifting his form's density. His nanorobotic machine-phase matter hummed as it passed through the solid object.

Everything almost seemed to be going too well for him.

As Touma walked down the hallway that lead to the room he shared with Index and the former Magic God Othinus, within the dormitory itself, no misfortune fell upon his shoulders. A crazed gunman didn't turn a corner nor did he step on a mousetrap that'd been laid out in the hallway – though such a thing wouldn't have caused Kamijou Touma to experience pain anyways – and most importantly of all there were no magicians trying to drag him off on some insane quest.

With the paradoxical blessing and curse that'd resided within the right hand of the "old" Kamijou Touma seemingly gone forever, perhaps his misfortune well and truly had come to an end. Perhaps it was all over.

Rather than stopping before his room's door and knocking, he simply adjusted his form's density – a command which was almost becoming second nature to Kamijou Touma – and phased directly through the solid object, his form humming quietly as he did so.

Inside of the room he froze, coming to a quiet halt.

Sitting around the dorm room's table were Fukiyose Seiri, Himegami Aisa, Index and Othinus. Luckily (for Touma at least), Seiri faced away from him while Aisa sat with her legs folded beneath her posterior on the table's left side, facing Othinus who was shooting him a look that could've killed, if looks alone were truly capable of such feats. Index had evidently been captivated by something beneath the table, rendering the little nun a non-issue.

He'd have to handle the situation before him with caution, lest the entire situation in question blow up in his face, covering him in slap marks, ash, and far too many questions. It wasn't like he could beat up his own friends if they decided to assault him.

Or could he?

Of course he couldn't do such a thing. Shrugging the hypothetical subject of philosophy off, Touma placed his left hand carefully against the surface of the handle, attached to the door behind him. He pushed it downwards, causing it to click in place.

All heads turned to him; Othinus was apparently in on his game and had chosen to side with him. Index looked about as impressed as Othinus had, but she too seemed to have taken side with her guardian. Had she seen her guardian phase through the door as well? Touma could only assume so.

Great. More questions to answer. Kamijou Touma could've groaned in frustration and desperation alike right then and there.

But was that the right reaction? Wasn't coming clean the right thing to do? He wanted nothing more than to come clean; there were simply many risks that were associated with doing so.

Almost immediately, Index's pet cat who'd been laying beneath the table adjacent to the knees of Fukiyose Seiri sprung up, hissing loudly at Kamijou Touma. The creature dashed towards the tidied bed, and buried itself within the sheets.

"Oi, nice to see you too, you mangy, flea-bitten varmint."

Touma's grumbles faded into obscurity as he approached the quartet.

"Don't talk about Sphynx like that! Tooouummmaaaaa!" Index chastised, wagging, ironically enough, her right index finger as she did so.

While Himegami Asia offered Touma a smile and a polite curtsy, even from her sitting position on the floor, and while Fukiyose Seiri huffed in his direction, giving him something a dirty and unapproving look – which was ironic given that she was a guest in _his_ home – it was Othinus who'd risen from her place on the floor.

In the end, he couldn't bring himself to be frustrated with the likes of Fukiyose Seiri for more than a few moments. Her behavior was part of her nature.

Closing the distance between herself and the one who Understood her, Othinus placed either of her hands against Touma's icy shoulders, pulling him wordlessly into the dorm's laundry room.

While Aisa and Seiri thought little of it, returning to their quiet conversation regarding the nature of Personal Realities of all things, Index could only pout as her cheeks began to glow a bright shade of red. She had no desire to join the conversation in progress. Instead, she merely rested her hand against her face, which she propped up, her right elbow pushed against the table's surface.

Obviously, those two were going off to kiss or something of the sort; while what they'd get up to would be completely innocent, which brought relief to the little nun's heart, she still felt like she was being excluded.

Then again, was she ready to _kiss_ either of those two? Was that what Index even wanted? Was she even ready to do anything of the sort? Weren't two people supposed to be in a relationship before they did something like that? According to church doctrine, two people weren't supposed to even do anything of the sort until they were married; but that doctrine came from another time, and hardly anyone followed such strict life guidelines, save the zealous.

Index knew that much. At least she could try and convince herself that such a thing was fact and not a mere sweeping generalization. The little nun found herself with a lot to think about.

In the dorm's laundry room, Kamijou Touma found himself being pushed against the nearest wall without warning; he'd been bumped against the washing machine, though this caused him no discomfort, as he simply declined the sensation's attempt to make itself known to him.

He certainly couldn't say that he minded nor could he have said that this was out of the ordinary; post-school "sexual frustration relief therapy" sessions between Kamijou Touma and Othinus had become commonplace some time ago. The event unfolding around him, what was happening to him was part of a daily routine.

Furthermore, the former Magic God's lips aggressively pressing against his own didn't cause any discomfort, either, nor could he say that he minded the physical attention. The way she shoved herself against him, grinding her form on his icy body brought a semblance of humanity to the forefront of his changed consciousness.

Touma's hands fell upon the hips of the former Magic God and he pulled her close, wordlessly embracing what was transpiring between the two.

Othinus wasn't some unfortunate girl he'd stumbled upon in a compromising situation. She wasn't going to strike him for admiring her, and she wasn't going to bring her wrath down upon him if he chose to indulge in her finer, more private areas. They didn't have to be 'in a relationship'. They weren't an item nor did they didn't have to be. Such societal structures were insignificant and unimportant to Kamijou Touma and the once-Majin Othinus.

"Mating rituals" were nothing new to these two, two immortal beings, one who'd ascended through magic and one who'd been forcibly ascended through science. Even before his ascension, "mating rituals" were a welcomed means of shrugging off their shared frustrations.

As if it was the simplest thing in the world, Othinus' skirt had fallen to her ankles, and, soon, her panties would be joining the previous article of clothing; with her left hand's fingers she fiddled with her panties while with her right she grabbed onto her Understander's crotch, where a set of human male genitals could be found; part of this reproductive system began to rise, machine-phase matter imitating the function blood would've normally served.

"You're not gonna be able to do it," Touma whispered. "You're gonna moan. Don't Othi-chan. Don't moan. Bite if you have to, it won't hurt."

"Silence. Wanted you since we parted ways. Let me have you for a short while, I won't moan. Nobody will know what transpired here. I don't w-want to wait for our guests to leave and I've waited long enough for you, bullheaded human."

The former Magic God's command was heeded by her Understander. Frantically, Othinus pulled down her Understander's pants of machine-phase matter; soon they joined her uniform's skirt on the laundry room's floor, before they fell apart, forming into a swarming mass of nanorobotic resin that surged into their main mass, disappearing soon enough as they became one with his outer layer of flesh-like resin. Kamijou Touma lacked undergarments of his own, as they simply weren't required.

Kamijou Touma's icy cold arms were cast around her waist and Othinus managed to push the cold, curled, rock-hard and flesh-like 'utensil' inside of her. Othinus felt it gently rub against her walls, as her eyelids widened. Pleasure was known to her, and she sighed with relief. As if an itch was being scratched, Othinus' left eye rolled back into her head as she awkwardly panted like an overheating canine.

The pleasant shock was still there even after all their "mating rituals".

It wasn't quite like anything the former Magic God had ever experienced before. It was like being stabbed with a thousand knives at first before shock and pain gave way to euphoria and a swirling sense of all-consuming pleasure, something simplistic and primal, something inherently mortal and flawed in its nature.

"Big," Othinus gasped. Like a fish pulled from the water she gasped continually.

Othinus grabbed onto Kamijou Touma's shoulders, fingers curling and digging into his soft, flesh-like nanorobotic resin; it was almost like he hadn't been changed at all. Almost.

"Big… I d-don't… oh… oh, oh. Oh… I... I don't KNOW if I can take it all. Be gentle but not TOO gentle. I w-want… intercourse. With you. Now. T-this is Q-QUITE p… p-pleasurable. This p-powerless form has its… upsides."

Lifting Othinus up with either of his arms, as he placed them beneath her legs, the former Magic God cast her arms around her Understander's shoulders, only moments after she'd bitten viciously into his shoulder, using the coppery-tasting article of 'clothing' as a makeshift gag.

The actions they were engaging in came to them as naturally as breathing eating and sleeping. Even if Kamijou Touma could no longer do any of those things, it seemed his 'infused' higher mind still knew just what to do when intercourse was involved. It still knew there was nothing unnatural about the situation it'd found itself in.

"You do know how… fucking… risky this is no? Fuck, it doesn't matter. It feels really good to be inside you," Touma quietly mumbled, his lips pressed against the former Magic God's ear.

With every thrust, her trembling grew more intense.

With every thrust, Othinus bit down harder, as if she was attempting to tear chunks of nonexistent meat from her Understander's form.

"Just… tell me when you want me to blow the load. I can try to… to make it happen. I think I can go indefinitely, so it's… it's on you. Fuck that feels really good… this is pretty fucked up. We've got company. If a-anyone walks in here…"

"T-T… THAT makes it more exciting… don't care, don't care I d-do NOT CARE," Othinus babbled semi-coherently. She began to forcibly bounce up and down, her lower body generating increased moisture with each motion performed.

"N-nobody will know. Y-you're an overconfiDENT fool, I-Imagine B-BREAKER… y-you're b-bull… HEADED… a-and so… so… VERY FRUSTRATING… at times but I ADORE YOU WITH EVERY INCH OF THIS BODY… to the left go to the left yes right there. Good, good… more to the right… RIGHT THERE do NOT STOP."

Bullheaded was one way of describing him. Kamijou Touma chuckled and flicked the washing machine on, his left arm's density increased exponentially, in order to easily support Othinus' form without the aid of his right.

The machine produced a dull humming and began to clunk as it powered on. Othinus began to chuckle more to herself than to her Understander as she struggled to take air into her mortal lungs; the former Magic God's confusion gave way to admiration. That Imagine Breaker always had been skilled in the realm of on-the-fly thinking.

"Oi, you trying to cum?"

"What does it l-look LIKE? B-being t-trapped in this mortal form… has ITS advantages. Reaching c-climax is… the endgame GOAL…"

"Let me make it a little bit wider. Get those fucking walls… all of them. Ugh. Fuck. That's a girl. That's a good girl. Take all of that fucking… cock. Fucking take it, take it you love this cock... you're so tight, it's great. Take it all. Fuuuck. Ugh, Othi-chan, Othi-chan, Othi-chan…"

Either of the former Magic God's eyelids widened, while her left eye's pupil dilated. The 'utensil' did, indeed become wider; even if it was only be an inch or two, it was enough to send shivers throughout Othinus' form, and caused her to bite down upon her Understander's shoulder as hard as she could, in order to prevent herself from screaming aloud in pure, unadulterated pleasure.

The two kept this up for some fifteen minutes more; in the end, while Othinus didn't achieve the orgasm she'd sought, mostly due to a growing sense of nervousness within her that caused her to wave the proverbial white flag, she was certainly satisfied. It was as if some fix had been obtained, an intense craving temporarily staved off until its eventual and return.

It was a shame that her bravado couldn't have carried her all the way. Instead, the unreliable emotion had decided that enough was enough. It'd picked up and it'd left like a fed up and battered housewife.

The former Magic God had found herself closing the bathroom door behind her, as Touma gathered what remained of his wits. He heard the sounds of a stream of water crashing against the porcelain surface of the bathroom's tub.

After taking the liberty of folding up the discarded uniform of the one he Understood, Kamijou Touma placed each article of clothing carefully within the nearby laundry basket before he deigned to change his attire.

With a silent command Kamijou Touma's nanorobotic machine-phase matter danced around his form like a swarm of angry bees whose nest he'd disturbed. Parting from his torso, his waist and from either of his legs, the swarming mass quickly fell back into place; Touma was then suddenly adorned in a plain, short-sleeved white top and dark, simplistic jeans. His unblemished and flattened hairdo could stay as it was.

He soon found himself stepping out of the laundry room. Touma had turned off the washing machine, which he considered one of his close personal friends – it'd certainly been willing to 'help a brother out'.

"Laundry in?" Index inquired, as innocently as she could. She still didn't know what perversion had only just taken place.

Both Seiri and Aisa turned to face their host, who hadn't been aware that he was a host at all. It hardly mattered; Touma was glad to see that the being he'd come to Understand was beginning to make friends, and that she was capable of being social with others. His privacy be damned; he wasn't all that important anyways. While the dorm was 'officially' his, he shared its space with two other individuals who deserved and were entitled to have lives of their own.

Touma offered the trio a nod before he joined them at the table, taking the former Magic God's place.

"Yup. Washing machine gave us a bit of trouble. Oth… Olivia-chan's in the bath, so, that's off limits. Unless you want to spook her or something… heh. PE class must've kicked your asses, then, eh?"

"It would seem that way," Seiri remarked; before her were a collection of neatly-folded papers, stacked on the surface of the table. Next to her form, her large backpack was unzipped.

"Olivia-chan temporarily suffered from side stitches. I think she needs to watch what she eats before she runs. Are physical education classes not implemented in schools in Denmark?"

"Nope," Touma answered, not knowing or caring whether or not his answer was correct. The truth was only a little more complicated than that. Ancient, all-powerful gods didn't need to exercise, at least when they possessed godhood.

"… Kamijou-san," Aisa spoke, softly and slowly, as she always did. Before her, she held one of her own papers, collected from her own stack which wasn't quite as obsessively organized as Seiri's own. "… would you happen to know what the "core principals of pyrokinesis" are? I'd like to check and make sure the information I have written down is correct…"

"I do. A molecule's motion is forcibly raised through the use of Personal Reality-generated telekinetic force, which then results in combustion of the molecule and subsequent molecules surrounding the instance whose motion was originally raised," Touma firmly stated, like a search engine providing a procured answer to a curious searcher seated before a computer.

He might as well have been a computer. He even came packaged with the bonus of suffering from hardware crashes! Even though he'd only just engaged in sexual intercourse, Touma felt oddly synthetic. At least Tsukuyomi Komoe would've been delighted to know that her "Kamijou-chan" memorized the entirety of her most recent lesson. In reality, it was a bit more complicated than simple "memorization". It was the harvesting, analysis and storage of data, a mechanical process, far more so than the natural human brain's ability to create memories.

Then again, those same memories could be taken away as well. Kamijou Touma was suddenly reminded of the frailty of a human brain. In fact, he was quite privileged to no longer be crippled by one.

Himegami Aisa eventually nodded her head; it was as if she'd drifted off for a moment, staring down at the paper she held. Had she experienced some sort of mental latency?

"… thank you, Kamijou-san. I must have the correct information in my notes… you must also be studying even harder than we are. Are you nervous?"

Fukiyose Seiri stuck her nose up in the air, brushing her hair's fringe away from her Forehead Deluxe.

"There's hardly anything to be nervous about. As long as you've read the material you'll ace the test… Kamijou."

Index found herself stifling a giggle as she looked at her guardian, her facial expression, one of guilt mixed with the desire to break down into a giggling fit. Touma couldn't help but grin as he rose from his place at the table.

"What're you laughin' at, huh? What's so funny? I want to be in on the joke too."

"N-nothing Touma!"

As the girls seated around the table spoke, with Index curious as to what exactly was being studied in their classroom environment, Touma ended up trekking into the kitchen area.

Situated upon the nearby counter, a small but pricey and very high-end laptop was present. Its lid was closed and the computer had been plugged in to charge. A ¥130,949 purchase, the device was the first of few necessities purchased with what some would've been correct in calling 'dirty money'.

Carefully, Touma lifted the laptop's lid, exposing its sixteen-inch built-in screen, and its small keyboard. Pressing his finger down upon the device's power button, the computer left sleep mode before it roared to life, its internal fans humming and its harddrive quietly clicking.

The desktop wasn't being displayed, with its few shortcuts. Instead, there was a webpage open in a singular Qoozle Navigator tab.

Perhaps when he'd been something less and – by his own standards – someone else almost entirely, Kamijou Touma would've reeled away at the sight before him, hands clasped over his mouth in shock. His immediate concern would've drifted to being caught in such a suggestive situation, in which assumptions could easily be made about his character and motivations.

That sort of concern wasn't present.

Rather than reeling away, Kamijou Touma leaned forward, looking curiously at the webpage displayed before him. While the laptop's required security augmentations including a VPN were in place as they always were, the VPN redirecting potential dirt-seekers and information-gatherers to a small, abandoned house in a Nigerian fishing village (one which surely didn't have an Internet connection), a "Privacy Please!" tab had been opened, preventing the browser from storing browsing history, or so Qoozle Corporation claimed.

The explicit video, featured on the explicit adult website had been paused on a rather interesting frame. Two young women were pleasuring a singular man whose family jewels were shown from a top-down point of view perspective.

Frozen in time, the two young women both possessed blonde, bleached hair had their hands wrapped around the curved-shaped organ while their respective mouths seemed to be munching on it, as if they were two starving children in some destitute, foreign land who'd just been introduced to the concept of a warm meal.

"2 HOT BABES PLEASURE COLLEGE BOY (MASSIVE FACIAL CUMSHOT! MUST SEE!)"

While this was hardly a surprising find – Othinus had long been known by Kamijou Touma to be what some might've called a "freak" – it was the nature of the find which he debated. Was it an unlikely Freudian slip or a deliberate message he'd been intended to find? The speed in which Othinus had come to master modern technology continued to impress her Understander.

Maybe, rather than being some sort of unintentional slip of the mind she sought to spice up their "sexual frustration relief therapy". Maybe this was her way of communicating that fact. Yet another topic of awkward conversation presented itself.

Closing out of the "Privacy Please!" tab, Kamijou Touma pursued what he'd originally been after; in the search bar of a new Qoozle Navigator tab, he typed in the URL of that ancient, but reliable social media service just about everyone he associated continued to use despite the presence of a newer and fancier (but quite broken) network, OpenZource, which was all the rage with overtalkative and over-political 'edgy' celebrities.

In the upper right hand corner of the window, along the search and options bar, the private messaging icon had a grand total of two tiny notification markers.

Sliding his right hand's fingers over the laptop's trackpad, while his left hand laid prone and unused on the counter's surface, Touma navigated to the private messaging icon, and double tapped on the trackpad in order to bring the interface pop-out to the front.

At least one of the individuals who'd chosen to message Kamijou Touma didn't piss him off. He contemplated hunting down and killing the other simply because he was a filthy, no-good, lying, back-stabbing serpent with a flickering silver tongue.

Kamijou Touma didn't even bother opening the second private message, the subject line of which read "Kami-yan, let's talk". The first message, however, perked Touma's interest among other things; the sender was Kumokawa Seria.

Even in her profile picture, which the outdated EpiCenter social media platform butchered by crushing said picture down into a truly tiny thumbnail, Seria looked absolutely, positively divine. Without so much as a single inch of makeup upon her face or even a single hint of image manipulation, Kumokawa Seria looked like something out of a dream.

With her dark hair worn long, its tips curled delicately, Kumokawa Seria could be seen only from the waist-up (which still provided Touma with many points of interest to observe, even aside from the obvious). The excessively gorgeous woman wore a simple collared shirt, with short sleeves. A radiant, full smile adorned her perfectly-chiseled face.

The young woman's message was opened, and Touma's vision skimmed over its words.

" _Hello~ just thought I'd drop you a line. I like your dp by the way, you look way too cute. Please do let me know when you'd like to set up our play date!_

_Kumokawa Seria_

_P.S I miss your lips very much."_

Then, Touma was violently thrust from the moment. At the lower right hand corner of the screen a small chat box had appeared. Unfortunately for him, it wasn't a new message from his senpai. Instead it was a new message from the snake who didn't have a profile picture at all. A part of Kamijou Touma was glad for that; he didn't want to see the snake's stupid mug anyway.

" _Kami-yan. If that's you on your account then stop ignoring these messages. It'll only end badly for you._

" _Before you make any rash decisions let me tell you that I know what you've been up to. I don't know exactly where you've been per say but I know that you can be found wherever there're pigs in human clothing to disappear. Since we've already discussed the nature of your employment that's just another little something I have to hold over your head. Hear me out and you'll be fine. Ignore this and you're going to pay the price._

" _Meet me down the street at the park. We're back in business Kami-yan. Apparently. Don't show up and you'll be hurting the nun and the other one and I do mean hurting."_

Was life just trying to pile shit on him until he broke?

Kamijou Touma didn't want to be the bearer of bad news, but he wasn't going to break. There wasn't enough pressure in the world to break him.

After closing the Qoozle Navigator tab, Touma enabled the laptop's 'sleep' function, and quietly closed its lid.

Calmly and peacefully, he stepped out from the room's kitchen area and into its meager, but cleanly sitting area. Fukiyose Seiri had already packed her obsessively-stacked pile of papers, while Himegami Aisa was diligently working to return her own to her small handheld bag with little success; Index had taken to assisting her companion.

An explanation would have to wait. Touma hoped that the former Magic God would Understand the situation, even if she no longer necessarily Understood him.

"You girls heading out? Shame, it was nice seein' you," Touma stated, looming over the scene as he pressed his form against the nearby section of walling, which segregated the kitchen area from the rest of the room. "Maybe we can bring it together again another time, huh?"

"… I would like that very much," Himegami Aisa admitted, as a blush formed on either of her cheeks. She rose, gripping her handheld bag's handle with enough awkwardly-applied strength to cause the small, metallic beams to creak.

Kamijou Touma couldn't have known it, per say, even if his nanorobotic resin could passively track Aisa's brainwave activity, but Himegami Aisa wanted nothing more than to spend more time with him. Such a meeting was long overdue. Merely thinking of it brought a crimson blush to either of Aisa's cheeks.

While Fukiyose Seiri had already risen, she stood before Kamijou Touma whose arms were folded across his chest. Seiri skeptically tilted her head to one side, raising an eyebrow.

It was almost as if he was being sized up.

"Kamijou. Something's very different about you; I'm glad to see that your self-confidence is… greater… than it was before. It's about time you started making improvements to the way in which you present yourself."

It was Touma's turn to raise an eyebrow, while he struggled to keep his eyes from drifting to the south and focused on Fukiyose Seiri's own eyes. It was less of an awkward moment and more of a mechanical, unnatural grind.

"Glad you noticed," he replied, quite carefully. "What can I say, Fukiyose-sensei? There comes a time in every guy's life when he has to get a grip and pull it together."

Crossing her own arms beneath her exceedingly ample bosom, Seiri's lips curled into a frown born of skepticism, for a moment, before she produced an irritated-sounding huff. She nodded, as if Kamijou Touma's answer was satisfactory, at least satisfactory enough to prevent further interrogation.

"… Seiri-chan," Aisa spoke, as she stood by the room's front door. Index stood at her side, though she seemed to be distracted by something, as she would occasionally look about the room, seemingly concerned. "… I don't mean to rush you… but the meal I have planned might take a bit of effort to prepare, if the oven continues to malfunction… perhaps we should get a head start…? Boxed foodstuffs are such a bother."

"So long, Kamijou," Seiri remarked, as she took to the side of her perpetually-blushing friend. "You'd better be at school tomorrow. Your constant shirking of your duties as a student is disheartening. How will you hold down any sort of employment in the future if you can't even buckle down and regularly attend your classes?"

Kamijou Touma could only shrug. _"Mind your own business,"_ was the first thought that came to mind, but uttering those words could've potentially lead to explosive results.

Instead of triggering the ticking time bomb that was the overzealous Fukiyose Seiri, Touma instead decided to speak a more reasonable series of words.

"You're not wrong Fukiyose-sensei. I have been goofing off a lot and I know that. There's no excuse, there's no point in blaming the world around me for my own fuckups, but I'm changing it. My grades are a lot better now though, no? Like I said, I'm pulling it together. I… appreciate that you're looking out for me. It's sweet of you. You don't have to, but you just do. You're like the class mom."

She seemed taken aback by this. For a moment, her lips parted, and she just barely held back a gasp of surprise.

Did Kamijou Touma just take responsibility for his own shortcomings? Did he actually just say what he'd just said, or was she dreaming? Was she in some science fiction novel where she'd crossed into another universe without her knowing? Fukiyose Seiri considered pinching her own skin to find out whether she was truly dreaming or not, but quickly settled on not doing so. Surely she'd know if she was dreaming, even if only on some subconscious level.

Fukiyose Seiri was impressed. Then, a small grin appeared on her face, as Touma's own lips rose, slightly, forming his own small smile.

She and Himegami Aisa took their leave, with Index holding the door open politely for the two; the trio shared the goodbyes before Seiri exclaimed "bye, Olivia-chan! See you tomorrow! Don't be late, or there'll be trouble!"

"Begone," Othinus replied from within the bathroom, a jovial chuckle beneath her words.

There that precious creature Othinus was, just trying to live a semi-normal existence; and there she was being used as a bargaining chip by "the powers that be".

Kamijou Touma could barely bring himself to look at the little nun, Index, who'd taken to looking at him with a worried expression once she'd closed the room's door.

"Index…"

He found himself being embraced by the little nun; she'd closed the distance between herself and her guardian within the span of only a few seconds. Her arms were thrown around his icy form, and she'd buried her face in his shirt of nanorobotic resin. The carefree façade had fallen.

"I'm worried about you Touma. You can do all these things you could never do before and you won't tell anyone what happened. I don't want anything to happen to you! I want to be with you forever."

Though Kamijou Touma's arms had wrapped themselves around the nun's habit-clad form, his right hand resting upon the back of her head, protected by her habit's headpiece, there wasn't a lot he could say. The plan had been that he'd sit down with the both of them and come clean, but with the wretched, no-good snake trying to drag him into some sort of death trap, surely, that plan had been voided.

What were they capable of? Would Stiyl Magnus and Kanzaki Kaori be sent to pry her away from him as they had been so long ago? Or would less reasonable individuals be delegated to rough his beloved co-habitants up? What choice did Kamijou Touma even have in the matter? It seemed, just as they always had been, his hands were tied.

If only they'd just threaten him for a change. He'd take on the entire Magic Side by himself and come out the victor. There wasn't enough magic in the world to bring him down.

"Touma?! Why aren't you saying anything? You're not okay, Touma. Touma?"

"I love you, Index. I love you, and I want to be with you forever, too. I want you to be with me forever… but that's why I have to go away for a little while."

The words which he'd spoken before, though not quite in such a painful moment, emerged before Kamijou Touma even bothered to think too deeply about them; his semi-omniscient data believed it wasn't the best response, instead opting for something more neutral and generic, such as "I'm perfectly fine, don't worry," but he couldn't have cared any less. No amount of omniscient nanorobotic technology could replace the truth.

"No, please," Index began to quietly beg, in a truly pathetic, whimpering voice.

"Please don't go, Touma, I want to… Touma… Touma, Touma… please don't leave us. Don't run anymore! I l… lo… I don't want you to go!"

The fact that she was in emotional distress tore through Kamijou Touma's emotions, the leftovers from another being entirely, like a hot knife through a particularly warm pound of butter. Something inherently human had suddenly surfaced from within a being whose humanity had been lost.

Nanorobotic resin rather than liquid tears dripped from the corners of Kamijou Touma's eyes, twisting and swarming, retreating into its main mass before each semi-coherent stream touched down upon the room's flooring. Index felt the cold swarms dance across either of her cheeks, as she buried her face deeper and deeper into her guardian's chest.

"Maybe…"

He forcibly broke away from Index, who, much to his relief, wasn't crying. She looked like she was on the brink of doing so, however; the little nun's chin had buckled and her big, azure eyes were bloodshot. As charge and guardian looked to one another, Index couldn't help but smile. Her eyelids would repeatedly close shut only to soon re-open; she was clearly beating back liquid pain with as much force as she could muster.

"Index, I want you to hit me. As hard as you can. Show me how far you've made it with what I've been teaching you, huh? You won't hurt me, I promise, and you won't get hurt either."

Index seemed taken aback, at first. The little nun furiously shook her head from side to side, before her guardian began to step towards her, slowly, but surely, his hands curling into fists.

"Then you'll show me how you can dodge."

"T-Touma!"

"Think fast!"

His fist surged forward, crashing through the breeze generated by his arm's forceful thrust, parting it, forcing the oxygenized air to roar like a raging animal. Index could only stumble backwards, heart beating far too quickly for its own good within her chest; just as her guardian's fist was about to make contact with her nose, it was yanked backwards at speeds well beyond "human".

It had become less of a limb and more of a blurred mass of something, some sort of anomalous swarm of grey-colored, amorphous matter for a moment.

Another blow came, a right hook this time and Index just barely managed to duck beneath it. A left hook came, which the little nun parried by placing her right arm over her left in an 'X' formation, followed by an uppercut, which she instinctively sidestepped.

The lessons her guardian had only recently begun to impart upon her were taking over as the nun heard her guardian's voice reverberate in her higher mind's consciousness.

" _You can learn to see a blow coming, Index; you can learn what sort of attack is what just by learning to recognize body motion and just by studying how your attacker readies themselves._

" _An uppercut could easily break your jaw, depending on the momentum and the size of your attacker, but you can get out of the way ahead of time without a problem just by recognizing that the arm has to be pulled backwards and then thrust outwards. You see that? You get back and you stay back, keep your eyes on 'em and don't let 'em get the best of you. You only go back in once you know you can find an opening. No shame in staying on the defensive while you work out the kinks in the bad guy's plan."_

Another one was coming. As if he was able to read her mind, Kamijou Touma had quickly wound himself up, preparing to deliver another potentially bone-shattering uppercut. As she saw it coming, from the opposite arm, and followed by a short fake-out in which Touma had initially looked like he was about to throw a right hook, Index sidestepped the true blow, and then moved in for "the kill".

Curling her right fist into a ball she reeled her arm back, her left readied to deliver "part two" of the "old one-two".

But just as she neared, just as the little nun was ready to land the blow as best as she could she found herself stumbling weakly, arms falling limply back to her sides as she allowed herself to be caught in her guardian's waiting arms.

As always she'd put her trust in him and he hadn't let her down, even if he'd changed so drastically from the Touma she'd known.

"I don't want to hurt you Touma! No, no, no! No! Why would I?! I _love_ you!"

Kamijou Touma allowed himself to slump down on the floor, with Index clutched in his arms like a child. The nun's own arms had wrapped around her guardian's back, as she repeated her confession again and again, either unaware of or unconcerned by the fact that her tone of voice was growing louder and louder with every uttering of the three-word sentence. Touma found himself in no sort of situation in which trying to stop her could be justifiable, even if incoming bursts of information told him otherwise.

Eventually, the little nun managed to quiet down some few minutes before a confused and concerned-looking former Magic God adorned with a towel around her curvy form stepped out from the laundry room, the soles of her bare feet slapping against the floor.

"Your form is improving," Touma complimented, causing Index to look up at him, cheeks glowing crimson.

"You're looking a lot better than you were a few weeks ago, reflexes are really good. Have you been practicin' on your own, Index?"

"Actually," Othinus spoke, "the nun has taken to pestering me with her constant desire to "become strong". I can and will admit that her arm-thrusts have become less benign, even leaving lasting, throbbing sensations. You may be training your attack-nun too well, Imagine Breaker."

"Come with me, then, guys… erm, girls. We can go on a little adventure together, for the first time as equals, not with me treating you two like you're… things, like weak little objects that need to be guarded. It was fucked up of me to treat you like that.

"Hell, even if you can't use magic, Index, you're far from helpless. Othi-chan, you're… well, you can clobber miscreants with the best of them, right? Just give you a two by four and watch the bodies go flying. No more of this damsel shit. I'm sick to death of it.

"So, will you? Will you help me out here and come with me? I doubt this is going to be anything big; probably just some rogue magician in the City or something the snake is too busy or too lazy to deal with on his own."

Index and Othinus looked to one another. The former Magic God brushed her hair's fringe away from her false eye, and then turned her gaze to her Understander. Index looked back to her guardian as well.

"I know about as much as you guys do," Touma explained, shrugging his shoulders as a one-sided silence permeated the room, settling like some kind of noxious gas spilled through the dormitory's ventilation system.

"I for one find it hard to believe that you're asking for help from anyone, Imagine Breaker, especially given your recent behavior," Othinus spoke, sitting herself down upon the bed. She crossed one slender leg over the other before she tossed her head back. With either of her hands she worked her bangs and her side swept fringe.

"You're simply full of surprises, an opened Pandora's Box, if you'd indulge me a metaphor."

Index rose, a determined pout on her face. "You shouldn't be trying to deal with everything by yourself Touma."

Touma began to pace. He stuffed either of his hands into his pockets while he did so.

"I'm not disagreeing, but the thing here is, there's a new piece in the game," Touma explained, though neither the little nun nor the former Magic God knew quite what he was talking about.

"Why I've come to realize that I don't have to shelter everyone around me like they're a bunch of helpless dolls, why I can let people help me when I know I need help.

"I don't think I can die. I don't even think I can get hurt. I've got complete control over myself now, I can block out pain just by rejecting it, like… like some sort of… heh. Like some sort of fucking computer. I guess I didn't want to accept it… I'm a machine, aren't I? I'm more machine than person. But that doesn't matter. It's got to be a two-way system."

Spinning on his heel, Kamijou Touma looked to Index who stood near the table, and then to Othinus who continued to elegantly sit upon the bed. A part of him wanted to spread the former Magic God's legs right there and find those human leftovers (and the pleasure that was obtained from doing so), but that could wait. It would have to wait. The innocent and uncorrupted mind of Index couldn't bear witness to such a thing, and he knew it.

"I'm not sure how accurate some of this is. I only know for one hundred percent that what I've experienced is real and not much else. Not much more to it than that. Perk those ears up because it's story time, girls.

"Once upon a time, in a shitty City not so far away, there was a man named Kihara Amata. This fellow, this Amata, he was fucked. He had some fuckin' problems in his head; he wanted to create something that could surpass "the Accelerator", something that could essentially exist in a state beyond what defines "level five", and what defines "human". An artificial level six.

"Because Kihara Amata was a failure and a joke among his peers, for more reasons than just one, mostly because of his son from what I hear, he didn't manage to get that far before he was… shall we say, disposed of by his own creation, the monster he'd built up to be his legacy. Think Mary Wollstonecraft Shelley's "Frankenstein" but with an ending where the monster wins. Sort of. I don't think anyone in Academy City can be described as "winning".

Index knew all about that part of her guardian's macabre tale.

"Anyway, I'm getting off track. After Amata bit the dust… or, was turned to dust, from what I hear, an old, limp-dicked cocksucking son of a whore's cunt named Kihara Gensei picked up the pieces left behind by Amata. If Amata had some problems with his head, then by gosh Kihara Gensei has termites and maggots in his.

"Nanorobotic resin, something comprised of a WHOLE BUNCH of tiny, microscopic little things. Almost indestructible, this rotting corpse-walker thought that this was his ticket to achieving level six, an idea he'd been jerking his tiny, insignificant little chode to for gosh knows how long..."

Kamijou Touma stopped speaking for only a moment. While Othinus seemed more concerned than anything, Index looked genuinely terrified. She'd taken a few steps back, her eyes remaining trained on the floor beneath her trembling feet.

"P-please stop t-talking like that, T-Touma… y-you're scaring me. T-talk normally…"

Before she could move, or even consider moving, her guardian had closed the distance between them.

Then, he took either of her cheeks into the icy palms of his hands, and placed a long, passionate kiss to the nun's forehead.

"There's nothing to be scared of."

To say that Index was too stunned to fight back would be an understatement.

"So! What happens? People start dying. You think I was the first? Heeellll no. Hell to the no. They aren't… I dunno, "good" enough to survive the infusion attempts. They start melting and all this shit. Saw a failure myself, he was… half and half. Their willpower isn't enough to see them through the overwhelming, soul-crippling pain of the "infusion process". But THEN! THEN! Kihara Gensei, the limp-dicked diddling cuntmonger hatches a dirty little idea inside of his dirty little head, and not _that_ head. Nothing's probably come out of _that_ head in forty or fifty years.

"Then what does he do? He sets a trap up, complete with some actors, hired or coerced I'm not quite sure – this part is something I just sort of figured out for myself – and snares a charming, handsome boy named Kamijou like a goddamn rabbit in the woods! The nasty old man stuck him over and over and OVER again with all sorts of big old needles and stuffed poor Kamijou with all sorts of pills. Then poor Kamijou starts getting replaced by this "machine-phase matter" and that's when the shit hits the fan. There isn't a pain worse than having every cell, every fucking MOLECULE in your entire body destroyed and replaced, just barely keeping you away from the brink of death!"

Kamijou Touma had almost become feverish. He lurched as he spoke, gesturing with his hands, swinging his arms about like a savage, cave-dwelling proto-human. His tone of voice rose and fell, unstable and almost uncontrollable.

Either of Index's hands covered her mouth. Her eyes had widened, and she'd fallen back upon her posterior. Her trembling form couldn't even keep itself standing. Othinus had risen, and had begun to make the seemingly thousand-yard trek towards her Understander.

"But when it all came down to it… poor Kamijou, this poor Kamijou managed to survive. He survived and refused to bend his knee to the powers that be! Kamijou was better, he was improved! I'm stronger than I ever was before! I could fight the entire world! Look at progress! Look at what this City does to people who don't sit idle and let themselves get FUCKED! LOOK!"

His outer layer of nanorobotic machine-phase matter was silently commanded to fall and it loyally did so, revealing the stoic, swarming, grey and skinless form. Vaguely humanlike, 'eyes' were situated comfortably within the sockets of the skinless, swarming, abhorrent, human-shaped being that called itself Kamijou Touma, but these barely resembled eyes at all; they were two pale orbs that lacked any sort of defining features.

Index just barely held back a scream, and Othinus failed to restrain a lengthy gasp of shock. Such a sight evidently surprised even her, a being of countless years.

"Not quite so appealing, now am I?" Touma softly inquired. His voice remained the same, even as his form no longer resembled him, or any living human being in the slightest.

"Run, if you want. I won't hold it against you! Run! This is what I am now! Run and tell everyone that Kamijou's been replaced with some sort of… some sort of cyborg monster. If they want to try and kill me, they'll need to get in line and take a fuckin' number."

But as Kamijou Touma's outer layer of nanorobotic resin returned, just as he slumped forward, barely holding himself up with his own right hand, balled into a fist, neither party did what was commanded of them.

Othinus was the first to throw herself down upon Touma's form from behind, her arms wrapping around his icy shoulders. She kissed the back of her Understander's head again and again, the soft, innocuous texture of cold, icy hair brushing over her lips as she buried her face in as deeply as she could.

As Touma had done for her, Index allowed herself to crumple before him. She took either of his cheeks into the palms of her hands, tears dripping down her cheeks as she pressed a gentle kiss to her guardian's forehead.

It took her a while to speak. For some few minutes, whether five, ten or twenty the nun couldn't quite be sure, she simply tried to wrap her mind around what exactly she'd seen.

After a time she managed to speak her piece.

"No Touma. I won't run. I want to be with you forever and ever. If it wasn't for you… Touma, it doesn't matter what happened to you. You're still Touma to me even if your insides look different. Why did you hide though? What were you afraid of?"

"As hard as it might be, try not to be a buffoon, Imagine Breaker. W-with…"

Othinus broke down, and joined her co-habitant. She began to quietly weep.

"W-with this revelation I… I can finally begin to Understand you again… I-Imagine Breaker. I won't run anywhere, not unless I'm running at your side! Why must the people of this world be so cruel to you?!"

"Afraid? I guess I was. I was afraid that'd you hate me, I was afraid that you'd be afraid of me. I'm still afraid that you're going to get hurt because you know. Please don't leave me. I need you. I haven't treated the people around me fairly and I want to start righting my wrongs… please give me that chance. I have a better chance of fixing what kind of a person I was to you, to everyone around me than ever before. Give me the chance to make something good of this."

"Touma… I won't leave you behind. You selflessly followed me into the depths of Hell when no one else would have. Y-you're my best friend! I wouldn't be here without you!"

"In what manner you physically exist is irrelevant, Imagine Breaker. It's the actions you take that speak the loudest."

For a while, the being who would continue to exist as the guardian of the Index Librorum Prohibitorum, she who'd memorized over one hundred thousand Grimoires and the Understander of the one who'd once been a Magic God, she who'd ended the world, was held by both of his charges, who were seemingly able to cast aside their human instincts, recently-acquired or otherwise for him, so that they could learn to cope with what he'd been forced to become.

Despite everything that demanded that he shouldn't have been, Kamijou Touma found himself smiling, and for a while the three allowed themselves to indulge in their weaknesses before reality eventually came knocking on the door of Touma's higher mind.

The snake, the catalyst for the scene that'd only just unfolded was waiting, likely impatiently.

As the former Magic God, Othinus began to massage his scalp, Touma, with the little nun Index clutched tightly in his embrace figured the snake could wait a little while longer.

"T-Touma? It's okay Touma. You don't have to be a-afraid."

"No, Imagine Breaker. The nun is correct. Cease the foolishness you've engaged in and allow us to help you."

* * *

Hypherion, high upper-class Suburb-World. Nebulus solar system.

Yundas 7th, 5004. 6052:00,00. [Approximate date, based on Japan's Earth calendar: February 7th, 2004. 6:01 PM.]

The streets of gold were broken. Hypherion's countries and continents were reduced to clumps of primordial earth.

Suburban homes with their hourglass-shaped designs, towering skyscrapers that were thin like thimbles and multistory shopping centers crumbled like they were sandcastles beneath the feet of an unaware beachgoer. Men of great power, those who held the fate of the Suburb-World in the palms of their hands were nothing when faced with the might of a god.

Landmasses shifted from one another and broke as their crusts were exposed, the primordial fires that'd forged the world raged above ground and consumed all things in their senseless, uncontrolled warpaths. Billions upon billions of human beings perished, with casualties numbering close to twenty-five billion, nearly the world's entire human population as trillions of other lifeforms, flora and fauna alike perished along with them; the seas boiled and the skies of the Suburb-World shattered like a pane of glass struck by a thrown rock.

Amidst the destruction, within the absolute dead center of the plane's surface, the coordinates immediately known by his omniscient mind was Abraxas, the Mad Tritonian.

Shredded humans crunched beneath his footfalls. A child's shrieking was silenced as the living god snapped his fingers, causing the wailing existence's head to spontaneously implode, silencing it forever.

He spread either of his massive arms, causing his hulking, gargantuan torso to expand in either direction, while his monolithic legs were spread. There were no words that needed to be said, no arcane strings of text from an ancient, long-forgotten tongue that were required to be recited. Abraxas silently willed the planet to split in half before him, directly down its center, and the planet obeyed.

The world wailed and thrashed in agony beyond measure, rumbling as it parted on command. Magic God Subaru leapt into the crevice, allowing chunks of the planet's innards, its last attempts at a wrathful reprisal to bounce harmlessly against his armor, leaving not even a single dent, scratch or ding.

Floating in the dark void of the "great Dark Beyond" with both halves of the planet drifting away from one another at a perpetually-quickening pace, a singular orb floated. Resembling a chunk of natural earthen material itself, the orb had many jagged, earthen protrusions which jettisoned from its surfaces.

Abraxas' thick, cracked lips curled into a grin as he wrapped his right hand's fingers around the world's core. So blistering was it to the touch that it would've instantaneously evaporated a lesser being. The Tritonian's armored left hand was not damaged, nor was a singular streak or blemish left upon its surface.

With his quarry obtained he willed himself to Triton, where great statues bearing the likeness of the Magic God Niang-Niang in various stages of domination over lesser beings, hundreds of meters tall honored her existence, where the lesser, enslaved Venusians toiled and unwillingly worshipped him as their omniscient God-King, unstoppable, ever-seeing and never incorrect in his judgment.

While there had been many ornate, sparkling Venusian city-states with many structures on Triton's surfaces, raised by the Venusian emigrants of old, there existed no more to speak of save for the crumbling ruins left behind in the wake of the living god's rampage, following his ascension so many millions of centuries ago, a moment that had reverberated throughout the ether of the multiverse.

Triton itself, little more than a hunk of rock to the untrained eye had been much more than a mere moon for many eons.

It was a titanic mobile fortress of massive proportions. The humans' "Star of Bethlehem" was little more than a cheap, dinky river-raft when compared to the weaponized stronghold that was Triton, Neptune's moon.

Within, Triton had been hollowed out. Tunnels and antechambers and great halls for even greater feasts and celebrations (where only the Tritonians and those Venusians who cozied up to Abraxas were permitted to even stand) were present. Of course, a grand throne room had been carved out within Triton as well.

This "room" was in fact greater than the size of some cities on some worlds. Its ceilings were hundreds of thousand of meters away from the ornate, tiled and smoothed-over flooring, while its many twisting chambers and functional living spaces numbered in the thousands.

At the pinnacle of this throne-city deep within the hollowed-out moon was the grand airborne throne of Abraxas, the living god, which he'd set himself comfortably in. At the height of the throne's backrest, several orbs quite similar in shape and size to the core of Hypherion floated, held in place by his will. Nearby the throne, willed to remain in place, the floating white mass paraded before one of man Aleister Crowleys remained accounted for.

"Basically, did you do it again?"

In response, Abraxas merely grunted at first.

"Why the glare? You could kill the greatest of Triton's Sons with those hateful eyes. The insects' screams tickle my fancy. Should it improve your grim mood, Hypherion's denizens will no longer be producing their noxious gasses."

The god's conversational partner wasn't impressed. Her arms were folded beneath her ample bosom.

"You went off to have more fun without me. Basically, do you not remember last time? I specifically asked you to take me along next time you went on one of your treasure hunts."

"Apologies, apologies. I've been a very busy body indeed. You see, I've had my eye on Hypherion's worldcore for some time. Such a pretty trinket. It's… exotic. Very well, one might not be able to see their reflection within its surfaces, but if one spends their days standing about and admiring themselves, they ought to… well, they ought to die. Vanity is a disgusting thing. A disgusting thing for disgusting little insects. Now, which one do you think my Mistress would must find appealing? "Neptune's" worldcore is quite opaque, and not bright enough. Hypherion's is certainly not her cup of Yuuil…"

Frenda Seivelun, she who in another time and in another place was known as "the Accelerator" manipulated the vectors of the synthetic and oxygenized air within the hollowed-out moon, Triton, allowing her to float freely at Abraxas' side, where she'd been since he'd shown her mercy.

At the very least the living god had a sense of humor; the way he'd brought down the entire continent of Australia down upon Mugino Shizuri and Kinuhata Saiai had been quite the sight indeed.

This levitation of Frenda's own also allowed her to gaze down upon either of the great, silver gauntlets the 'Mad Tritonian' wore upon his hands. There was a large, round space carved out upon each of the gauntlets' individual knuckles, and in the center of the top of either gauntlet, in which a total of twelve worldcores had been set, some red, some green, some blue and some completely colorless; though serving no function, both mortal and immortal Magic God alike could agree that Triton was severely lacking in fashionistas.

One of Abraxas' enormous, gauntlet-bound hands was extended over the throne-city below the Magic God, and below Frenda Seivelun, the Accelerator.

"Look at them scurry, Frenda. See as they make pitiable efforts to one-up and backstab each other to gain my favor. The purple ones have outstayed their welcome, regardless of their humorous duplicity exercised against their weak-willed "leaders." They would leap from the ends of Triton if I commanded them to do so."

"Would you?"

"For as long as it would amuse me. Were it not so entertaining to watch the undesirables dance the dance of desperation I'd be rid of them all sooner than later. Speaking of amusement, I think it's time for a direct Lunar Bombardment."

With a flick of his wrist, Abraxas ordered a great many thousands of enormous and terrible siege weapons, built directly into the very rock of Triton's surfaces to unleash thousands of carven, ornate shells forged of the crust of the broken world, Neptune.

With a quickly-established momentum augmented by the living god's will, these shells surged throughout the star-ways, guided by a divine hand, soon crashing through the atmosphere and into the surface of a distant world.

Over the magically-constructed and maintained transmission systems, Triton's top engineers delivered a message of victory to their people, and to the "honorary Tritonian" Venusian whistleblowers within smouldering bellies of the hollowed-out moon.

"Lunar Bombardment successful! Direct hit on Mars! A great and historic victory for Tritonians everywhere! Hail God-King Abraxas! Hail God-Queen Niang-Niang! Glory to the Sons of Triton! Forever are we superior in mind and in form!"

"Wonderful. I can feel their agony from here. An amusing distraction, if nothing else."

An unimpressed Frenda Seivelun could only roll her eyes in response, as she accelerated away from the 'Mad Tritonian's' levitating throne.

"Very mature. Basically, you're a child in your mind."

"You would yet do well to watch your mouth, child."


	10. Love, Hatred, and Everything Else

February 7th, 2004. 6:15 PM.

Even if Kamijou Touma sought to right what he perceived to be wrongs, there was a sense of nervousness he just couldn't quite shake off no matter how hard he tried to do so.

With his destination (which wasn't all that far away from the dormitory) held at the forefront of his consciousness, Touma rested himself against the wall nearest the dorm's door, his hands stuffed into the pockets of his 'pants'.

He didn't face the looming task alone, not this time.

Othinus was at his side, with her right arm wrapped around her Understander's left. Her long, golden locks had been permitted to fall freely down her back and along her shoulders. She wore a simplistic, long-sleeved pullover sweater, dark, tight-fitting leggings to match and exceedingly expensive high top trainers.

"What do you think Tsuchimikado-san needs from us, Touma?" Index softly inquired. She emerged from the dorm's kitchen area, where Sphynx's food bowl was set, very recently filled to the point of overflowing with solid nuggets of food. A bowl of water wasn't far away from it.

Touma could only shrug as Index clung to his available arm, as if to try and one-up Othinus. Whether that was indeed the case or not he couldn't quite be sure, but Touma hoped it wasn't. Perhaps that could become another topic of conversation at a later date.

"One of you is going to have to open the door," Touma explained, forcibly producing a chuckle.

Othinus did just that, as Index began to cling even more tightly to her guardian; if his arm still had blood-filled veins within it, the limb surely would've started to become numb. The door closed behind the three and then automatically locked behind them, producing a soft 'click' as it did so.

Turning to his charge, Touma looked down at Index, while Othinus worked to serve as the duo's eyes. The little nun smiled up at him as best as she could. Touma smiled back.

"I don't really know what he needs. We're bound to find out though, aren't we? Whatever it is, I have a feeling it won't be all that big of a deal. It shouldn't be at least. Even if it is, we'll find a way to deal won't we? We've been through worse. We survived Academy City pretty much collapsing into one of those post-apocalypse movies, minus the zombies or the mutants. I'm pretty sure we can survive whatever minor inconvenience… Tsuchimikado… needs help with."

Touma seemed to have visible gritted his nanorobotic teeth after he'd uttered 'the snake's' name. His overt rage frightened the timid little nun, though she didn't back down.

Not only would he never harm her – Index knew that much in her heart of hearts – but timidly cowering away from all frightening stimuli would only make her a burden, something she never wanted to be.

Within the darkened stairwell Kamijou Touma acted as the two girls' eyes.

Though they had difficulty seeing it, two long, arm-like protrusions of machine-phase matter had emerged from either of Touma's knees, prepared to catch either of the girls should they have decided to take a trip down the staircase.

Thankfully for all involved nothing of the sort occurred. Though their trip took some time to complete, due to Index's slow and cautious descent, the trio eventually managed to emerge from the stairwell and into the dormitory's lobby, which, though by no means the fanciest was at least illuminated by synthetic light.

"Imagine Breaker. What is it like? Being… like this? I suppose this would explain why you've managed to completely avoid sleep, and seemingly have completely abandoned eating. Do you simply not need to consume nutritional foodstuffs? Before… before I was saved… I didn't need to perform such menial tasks either. Mortality is such a frail and needy existence, isn't it?"

Touma certainly couldn't blame the former Magic God for being curious.

The trio departed from the dormitory's lobby, stepping out into the surprisingly warm evening air, which began to caress their respective faces, leaving soft and gently-placed kisses upon them.

While Index's hair was protected from the breeze by her habit's headpiece, Othinus and Touma weren't quite that lucky. The nun with the unruffled hair looked to her guardian as the trio crossed the street, their destination being the cobbled walkway on the other side which would lead towards the park, with a few twists and turns thrown into the mix.

"That's a good question," Touma remarked, his tone of voice hushed. Though the streets weren't densely populated, there was still the chance that those who didn't particularly need to know too much about his situation might've obtained that knowledge if some level of discretion wasn't exercised.

"It's… different, Othi-chan. It was more terrifying than anything at first. Not knowing how your own body works and hardly being able to control it at all is even scarier. Was this how you felt after… you know. Everything. I'm assuming it was how a bad trip feels. Difference is, most people eventually stop tripping and puke into a toilet a few times the next morning.

"I can eat, I think, if I make an artificial stomach. I could probably use these," Touma ordered a small, arcing swarm of nanorobotic resin to leap from his wrist and then into the palm of his hand, which Index watched with curiosity, wonder and a hint of fear of the unknown, "to make some sort of… grinding system to "digest" food. I don't know how to make this body sleep. It doesn't need to, at least there aren't any consequences for not sleeping that I've experienced. I don't get tired."

Othinus was quite glad that he didn't bring up 'that', what exactly 'everything' was. To say that remorse burdened her heart and stabbed her in the gut during her every waking moment would be an understatement.

But there she was, making it about her again. If anyone had suffered, if anyone had known true pain, it'd been Kamijou Touma. And it all been her fault.

For a while there was silence, as Kamijou Touma walked with Index and Othinus at either of his sides. Apparently Othinus didn't wish to answer the question posed to her during Touma's reply, and he couldn't blame her for that. Dark times were better left in the past.

For a moment, he felt like a character in one of those harem visual novels, and hardly for the first time; but there was something more inherently peaceful about the moment he shared with his co-habitants.

With both slowly having grown used to one another's respective presence, something of an acquaintanceship had formed between the nun who'd memorized over one hundred thousand Grimoires and the former Magic God who'd ended and then restored the world.

Rather than fighting with one another like the female characters in many harem visual novels would, or arguing about who he belonged to, both parties seemed content to tolerate one another's presence; Touma had even seen them engaging in small talk of their own accord before. If that wasn't impressive then nothing could truly be called such.

"Touma? Is your brain still up there? Or was that replaced too?"

Apparently, Index had found the courage to ask her own question regarding her guardian's 'condition'. Once again, Kamijou Touma certainly couldn't blame the little nun for being curious. She had the right to be curious, and she had the right to know the answer to her question.

The trio made a right turn down a side street. Surprisingly quaint, the more secluded section of walkways boxing in a smaller stretch of road, with many towering structures looming over the three seemed to bring forth a new sense of openness. It dulled the conspiratorial air around the three, bringing comfort, and to an exceedingly lesser extent, a sense of security.

"You could say that, Index. Another great question, by the by. I'm still… me? I have my own thoughts, the same sort of thoughts I had before this whole mess, for the most part. I have been doing some thinking, though. This, everything involving this has given me a lot to think about. It's changed my views on a lot of things, since I found myself in another set of shoes, so to speak."

The part he didn't speak of was the restoration of memories that'd once been lost to him, the restoration of brain cells once shredded. He could remember everything; his childhood, his time spent with a certain golden-haired Tokiwadai student and with the young woman known as Beauty-Senpai, the first time he met the strange, silver-haired nun hanging over his balcony, everything.

"Explain," Othinus spoke, almost urgently. Touma had his theories as to why, and they weren't incorrect; she was desperate to Understand her Understander once more.

While Index seemed concerned and mystified by the revelation, Othinus seemed not only disturbed but desperate.

It was a lead, something for the former Magic God to cling to; Touma wasn't about to let the being he so deeply Understood fall further into the darkness of unknowingness.

A left turn was made, and a straight section of walkway needed to be followed. The middle school unassociated with the park, their destination, could be seen just over the rather steep hilltop.

"It's always been me playing the hero, dashing in at the right moment or at the wrong moment, depending on how you see things… heh. I was always the one to jump in and wag my finger, telling everyone why they were wrong, forcing my own morals and values down everyone's throats. "Do this!" "Do that!" "Don't do this, that's wrong, because I said it's wrong!" This time, things were different; it was almost like some sort of fucked up subversion of everything I knew.

"This time around I was the one under the knife, I was the person who needed to be saved. Where were my morals and values then? Maybe if some weirdo stormed in and started punching people, blabbering about "living your life correctly" and "illusions" things would've happened differently, but I can't know that for sure. I never will.

"The experience, being completely helpless and effectively being fucking experimented on like some kind of lab rat, being changed into this, whatever I am now – it changed me. It changed my outlook on a lot of things, Index. It's not all as simple as "good and evil", as "this person is evil and needs to have their way of thinking changed". One person's way of thinking isn't necessarily wrong, or incorrect when compared to another.

"When it comes to the greater good, when it comes to cleaning this place up… there're some people that just have to go. There're some people that just aren't worth saving. Why give a rapist, or a senseless serial or mass murderer a second chance at life after they've destroyed and taken so much from others? They shouldn't be given the chance.

"At the same time, I understand why people do the things they do. I understand why someone like Accelerator took the steps he took, even if they were anything but right. It was… it was incomprehensible to me before all of this. I couldn't even consider why 'bad guys' did the things they did."

Index chose no to verbally reply as she quietly pondered her guardian's troubling and somewhat cryptic words; Othinus was evidently prepared to take her co-habitant's place, however.

"What would that make someone who kills with purpose and reason, Imagine Breaker? A federal agent who must terminate a threat or a police officer who finds themselves in a situation in which the discharging of his or her weapon is his or her only means to safely return home to his or her spouse and child or children?"

Touma found himself in a difficult position. Othinus was more than likely referring to herself, and yet, what answer was he supposed to give? Was he supposed to tell her the truth: that if he encountered another like her he wouldn't extend the same mercy he'd extended to her once they'd come to Understand one another? That, while he was hopelessly in love with her, she had been the source of his worst nightmares realized?

No, that obviously wasn't the correct answer.

"A federal agent or a police officer putting down someone who's a threat to the community, or the interests of a well-meaning government aren't the kind of people who deserve to die. A cult leader who makes his followers drink water laced with some sort of lethal poison? Now that's someone who deserves to die slowly, cruelly, and with a complete lack of any kind of dignity."

Indeed, Kamijou Touma had changed. Othinus tightened her arms' grip around her Understander's own arm, as she asked no more questions of him. Index had been given even more to think about.

With the hill ascended, and a considerable amount of pressure in the calves of both Index and Othinus to show for it, the three neared the middle school, and more importantly the fenced-in park, complete with a heavily-rusted and seemingly rarely-used playground, located on the other side of the school's expansive field, overrun with tall, thick blades of grass.

"Oi, Kami-yan. Decided to show off some members of your harem tonight? Fancy, fancy."

He stood in the field, close to the walkway beyond its grassy edges, with either of his hands stuffed into the pockets of his pants. Even with the sun slowly beginning to descend, bringing a considerable amount of shade with it, Tsuchimikado Motoharu wore a pair of sunglasses, whose lenses were dark as midnight. His eyes lurking behind the piece of eyewear couldn't be seen no matter how hard Othinus or Index tried to see them.

Adorned in a tight-fitting suit, the jacket of which was cast open and unbuttoned, exposing a simplistic dark shirt beneath, Motoharu was dressed to impress. An expensive-looking watch was visible on his wrist, and the blonde hair atop his head was gelled and slicked upwards.

"You know this talk of "harems" makes him uncomfortable. Yet you continue to pester the one you claim to be your friend with this nonsense. Are you a friend or are you a troublesome antagonist with little concern for anyone but yourself, you shallow, grinning cretin?"

Kamijou Touma was forced to produce an impressed whistle. "Olivia-chan" had brought quite the verbal bombardment down upon Tsuchimikado Motoharu, whose aforementioned grin began to fade, twisting into an unimpressed, frustrated scowl. While she would've been correct at one point, Touma could only react to Motoharu's speaking of the truth with complete indifference.

"This pathetic psychopath isn't my 'friend'. Kami-yan's a means to an end for a lot of people who I find myself unfortunately associating with. You've been a bigger pain in my ass than you're worth, especially you, "Majin Othinus."

"Don't you dare talk about Touma like that!" Index exclaimed, quite defensively. She literally put her foot down, as the volume of her enraged vocalizations reached a fevered pitch.

"After everything he's done for you, for everyone, you'd just turn your back on him?"

Touma himself hadn't deigned to sit back and allow his co-habitants to fight his battles for him. Instead, he'd gotten himself right up into Motoharu's face, his own icy nose mere inches from the Backstabbing Blade's.

Neither was willing to back down, neither was willing to achieve a temporary peace between them. One mistrusted and despised the other, while one was quite fed up with the overly outspoken and unpredictable actions of the other.

Though Touma stood some few inches taller than his friend turned foe, this made little difference to the spy. The bigger they came, the harder they fell.

"The fuck did you just say to me?"

"You heard what I said, Kami-yan. I called you a pathetic psychopath because that's exactly what you are. Do you honestly think that putting down whoremongers and drug dealers makes you tough shit? Anyone can do it. Fuck, I could do it with my hands tied behind my back, the nun could probably do it, that fucking beta male Hamazura could do it."

Though Othinus had succeeded in pulling her Understander away from the Backstabbing Blade, the latter didn't seem to warm up any. He turned his back, and began to walk in the direction of the run-down park. A small group of students whose uniforms Touma didn't quite recognize were approaching quite quickly. Reluctantly, the trio followed.

"Imagine Breaker. Is what he said true?"

"What, the "whoremongers and drug dealers" part? Yeah. I make them squeal like pigs. It's good training, helps me learn about what I can and can't do and they're doing more harm out there than they're doing good. Helps relieve some frustration too."

Othinus produced a soft sigh.

Walking at his side, detached from her Understander at least on a physical level, the former Magic God realized that coming to Understand the person that Kamijou Touma had evidently changed into would be much easier said than done.

He was almost like some sort of vigilante rather than someone who acted simply because their moral compass told them to, because they felt that acting was the only means to prevent a tragedy and protect as many peoples' smiles as humanly possible.

Index, who continued to walk at her guardian's opposite side looked less troubled, and more like she was in a state of deep thought.

Her brow had furrowed, her eyebrows had scrunched, while the right side of her face had seemingly puckered. She bit down on the inside of her right cheek.

Both Othinus and Index were thinking similar thoughts.

While Kamijou Touma had confessed to committing criminal acts, had he necessarily been in the wrong for doing so in his case? Those who pushed mind and body-bending drugs in the streets, ending lives and destroying families, and those who operated prostitution rings could hardly be referred to as "good people". If anything, they were the scum of the Earth.

But it was the narrative shakeup that concerned both. The "old" Kamijou Touma, the Kamijou Touma that had been before his kidnapping and subsequent transformation never would have killed anyone.

But had that been a good thing?

Both of Touma's allies found themselves with mild, throbbing headaches.

"So, Kami-yan. Are we going to do this the hard way, or the easy way? Trust me on this, I don't want to work with the likes of you any more than you want to work with someone like me but it's out of our hands. The decree's been given and we're just the pawns on the game board…"

"Who gave the order?"

"For the sake of all parties involved you're better off not knowing that."

Kamijou Touma wasn't about to let the issue go quite that easily.

"Who gave the order, Tsuchimikado? Who's the one threatening Index and Othi-chan?"

Othinus took to her Understander's side in defense of her honor.

"I believe the nun and I have the right to know. I am no pawn and I would very much like to learn more about just who believes such a thing to be truth."

"I can't tell you that."

There was a sudden blur. The world around him spun and his entire body ached. Before long the Backstabbing Blade found himself forced down upon the field; the soft, cool grass beneath him supported his back and brushed against the back of his head.

Kamijou Touma was upon him, knee forced against Tsuchimikado Motoharu's chin, the tip of his right hand, having morphed into a swarming blade-hand hovered mere inches above the Backstabbing Blade's forehead, ready to be shoved inwards at any point.

"You'll tell me or things are going to end REALLY fucking badly for you. Who called the fuckin' shot?! I'm going to find out one way or another!"

Both Othinus and Index struggled to pull their mutual benefactor away from someone he'd obviously once considered to be his own ally, loudly calling for Touma to see reason.

While they attempted to force him, persisting in their attempts to remove him from his place upon Motoharu's upper chest, his form's density increased, leaving both unable to forcibly adjust his position.

"You're upsetting your harem."

Motoharu sneered, like a scheming weasel who'd managed to outrun a proverbial monkey.

"Go on. Kill me. Show them what you really are."

Soon, he relented.

Kamijou Touma rose, allowing himself to be pulled away by his co-habitants, their respective hearts beating unnaturally quickly, hammering within them like two jackhammers shattering a block of concrete.

Turning to both Index and Othinus, Touma spoke over their words of concern.

"Want to know what kind of fucked up SHIT this snake is involved with? Do you? Let me tell you, Index… Othi-chan… he's not delivering puppies to loving homes."

"That's enough Kami-yan," Motoharu snapped, his trembling legs barely able to support his strained body, which had suddenly started to feel like an anvil, rather than a collection of flesh, blood and bone.

The maniac had caught him off guard, but it wouldn't happen again.

Motoharu was keenly aware, ready to strike back at any moment. He refused to take his eyes off the inhuman thing that'd cloaked itself in the false skin of a deceased young man.

"Say another word and the gloves will come off."

Touma shrugged either of his shoulders, as if he'd been inconvenienced or otherwise sullied by his aggravated assault upon Motoharu

"I'm terrified! I'm absolutely fucking shaking in my boots here. Fuck right off. This snake piece of shit associates with terrorists, traffickers of all types, rogue fuckin' espers, KIHARAS! This serpent is everything that every decent human being should fucking hate. This is the kind of person who needs to be strung up and gutted."

"And you'd know what it means to be a human being, right Kami-yan?" Motoharu inquired, attempting to work the kink out of his lower neck.

"Sometimes we all have to do things we're not so fond of doing just because we have to, because it fits the situation and because doing wrong in the present can lead to something better happening in the future. Of course, that's all subjective."

"Oh, yeah Tsuchimikado you fucking serpent! Because you're the absolute paragon of the mortal high ground, aren't you?! There's not a fucking person on this planet you wouldn't stab in the back if it made everything easier for you!"

"That's not true Kami-yan and you know it."

"I'll kill you if you don't… shut the fuck… up."

"My point exactly, you deranged fruitcake. You're completely out of control. Turn yourself in, Kami-yan."

"And that's what you hate the most isn't it? I'm nobody's attack dog now."

Both Kamijou Touma and Tsuchimikado Motoharu were mere inches from one another once more.

Othinus had taken to seating herself upon the nearby park bench, facing the worn-out, ancient-looking playground. She'd crossed one leg over the other, and, in her hands she supported her chin. Evidently, it was her turn to contemplate what was happening around her.

Index, however, had remained at her guardian's side, eyeing the Backstabbing Blade suspiciously.

Once, he grinned at her and she'd felt like she might've suddenly vomited onto the grass around her.

There was something so inherently wrong with him. It was if some mask had been removed. Whether she believed her guardian's words or not Index wasn't even quite sure - he'd certainly have little reason to lie to her, if he didn't like Tsuchimikado for less drastic reasons, he wouldn't have made drastic reasons up on the spot - but regardless of the potential revelations, something once hidden had been revealed before her.

The stress placed proverbially upon the nun's small shoulders by the conflict and the surreal revelations around her wasn't helping her feelings of nausea improve, either.

"Fuck it and fuck you Tsuchimikado. Nobody needs to see this shit. You're fucking sick, a goddamn snake and a fucking lying conniving piece of shit. What does one of your many criminal employers want from us? If they know about Index and Othi-chan they're obviously Magic Side.

"You do realize we'll find out, right? And when we do I swear to God whoever threatened the people I love so much… they're going to pay. Very. Fucking. Dearly. We'll put them right in their goddamn place, you sick asshole."

Othinus turned to Touma.

"Imagine Breaker, the sooner you permit this… creature to speak, the sooner we can depart from his presence. It's quite clear that we find ourselves in agreement that, in this case, sooner is better."

Upon the lower landing of a small, metallic staircase leading up to the jungle gym Motoharu set his posterior; the cold metal contacted his clothed body and sent a series of chills rushing throughout him, causing him to unconsciously tremble for only a few moments. The Backstabbing Blade crossed either of his arms and huffed. He'd had just about enough of "Kami-yan's" badmouthing.

"Listen up, because I'm not repeating myself. There are two and a half things we're going to have to take care of. One of these things is right here in the City and another… well, the other thing is over in Wales, if nee-chin's friends have the right information and aren't just being lead astray. An artifact supposedly. Could definitely be something completely benign and not at all magical in nature but… what do I know? I don't suffer from paranoid schizophrenia.

"The thing, the issue, so to speak, that's here in Academy City is a bazaar run by these old fucks... err, folks. An informant checked it out, didn't find anything out of the ordinary but our mutual benefactor wants a "thorough investigation". Convinced that it's "a front for a prelude to an invasion attempt". Why they care is completely beyond me so don't even ask. I just don't have the answer.

"We do that, we shut our mutual benefactor the fuck up for a little while and then we drag our sorry hides over to Wales, do some digging and get us some folks who will talk when put under pressure. Simplicity itself."

"What's the catch?"

Apparently "Kami-yan" had converted the nun into a skeptic, too. If she was going to start asking questions and cease to simply accept the flow of the narrative she was a part of, that would make many peoples' lives quite inconvenient, a certain Archbishop's included.

How simply adorable indeed.

"The catch is that, at some point or another, we're more than likely going to end up butting heads with the Dawn-Colored Sunlight. Birdway's cabal. I do have a few ideas of my own on how we can reduce collateral damage… or possibly increase it. Oh well, who really gives a shit about Wales right?"

Touma had slowly and almost cautiously approached the child-sized staircase which Motoharu had set himself down upon. He casually balanced his body against its rightmost railing, and had crossed one of his legs over the other, balancing the tip of his right foot against the ground, while his left remained stable and flat.

"More people probably "give a shit" about Wales than about you, Tsuchimikado."

The Backstabbing Blade quietly chuckled, more under his breath and to himself than to anyone else, his head shaking from side to side, as if he'd heard the underwhelming punchline to some nonsensical or otherwise unfunny joke.

"Funny man Kami-yan, huh? Good, we'll be needing that sense of humor. So, what's going on with these two? The nun and… that thing… they're coming with us?"

"I'm not a "thing," Othinus snapped. She clicked her tongue as she pinched her own flesh, struggling to keep her flaming temper under control.

"You speak of the nun as if she's mere baggage. You sicken me to my core."

"Feeling's mutual," Motoharu quipped.

"Question."

Kamijou Touma had spoken his piece; though short, it served to symbolize the fact that he wasn't about to hand complete control of the delivery of information over to Tsuchimikado Motoharu. The spy didn't quite appreciate his once-friend's aggressiveness; the old, complacent and unquestioning "Kami-yan" had served far better as a means to an end than the unstable, paranoid, homicidal maniac that had taken the original's place.

"Kanzaki's not here, neither is Stiyl. I know that much, so I assume they're in England. Why aren't they dealing with this thing especially if it's magic business? That's pretty much Necessarius' job, no? So why the fuck aren't they doing it?"

"Spring-heeled Jack."

Collectively, Index, Touma and Othinus raised an eyebrow. All three had heard the tales of old; Othinus had even met the legend himself. Quite the gentleman, especially when it came to a moment in which fisticuffs was the only viable option.

Motoharu seemed to pick up on this fact, due to the expression on the former Magic God's face; it screamed of nostalgia, of the remembering of simpler, and by her own internal admission, more chaotic and destitute times.

"The issue is," the spy began, rising from his seat on the staircase as he stretched, "Spring-heeled Jack", or more than likely someone who's decided to become a new Spring-heeled Jack is kicking our asses. Channeling the latent power within the Terror of Victorian London's many wild tales, they've apparently decided to kick off round two.

"So far, he's done fairly well for himself. He's given nee-chin an atomic wedgie, beat the ever-living daylights right out of Knight Leader, defeated entire platoons of Knights and just because he apparently hadn't shown off enough, stuck the Archbishop in a tree, by her hair. If I didn't know any better, I'd think he was some kind of Magic God."

Touma certainly hoped the perpetrator wasn't a Magic God. A shudder was sent even throughout his nigh-indestructible nanorobotic form. Touma looked once over his right shoulder and once over his left, as if the hypothetical, faceless Majin would leap out of nowhere to inflict more pain upon him. Touma's 'omniscient' data was dreadfully silent, offering no answers or closure.

Rather than relying on something that knew nothing about magic, Touma took to Index's side. Wrapping his arm around her shoulder, he pulled the little nun close to him. The warmth of her form brought her comfort and reminded him that he was anything but alone. Either of Index's cheeks glowed red as she was affectionately held by him, causing her guardian to produce a soft chuckle.

Othinus could only look on, remorse bubbling up within her like some kind of wretched, stinking concoction brewed in the depths of Hell. He knew, didn't he? That was why he sought out the nun to find comfort. He knew the being who was struggling to Understand him held remorse in her heart.

"Hasn't killed anyone… yet," Motoharu continued, "still, he's a problem. See, that's the half I mentioned. We get rid of Jack, we have nee-chin, Barcode Boy and the Amakusans on our side for our short campaign against the Dawn-Colored Sunlight. With nee-chin it might not even come to that. She's got a way with words. She'd probably sing Birdway a fuckin' lullaby and put her to bed… I'll get back to you as soon as I absolutely need to. Might take me a few days to get "the gig" ready to go. Transport, bribes… you know the deal."

Touma shrugged. He looked to Index and then to Othinus, then back to Index again. He raised his shoulders even higher, as if he was attempting to accentuate his point.

"We don't have much of a choice, do we Tsuchimikado? We say no and a bunch of Magic Side G-men will come knocking on our door. I mean yeah, I could kill them and hang their miserable carcasses around the dormitory just to make a point but that wouldn't stop them, would it? Besides that, it'd stink up the place."

"Touma…" Index worriedly muttered. His violent words, though mere words, more than likely born out of frustration than any sort of actual ill intent concerned the nun greatly. She felt uncomfortable and she wanted him to stop.

"Sorry."

"The Imagine Breaker makes a good point," Othinus chimed. "You're explaining the issue of Spring-heeled Jack and your allies to us as if we have an actual choice in the matter. From what I've gathered, we don't. Is honesty beyond you along with other basic human traits such as compassion and understanding?"

Motoharu had just about enough. He stormed in the opposite direction of the park, back towards the hill from where the trio had come, his arms dangling at his sides limply, as frustration coursed throughout his body and higher mind like a lingering poison.

"Be there, Kamijou, or you'll see what I can do to the likes of you. Don't make me hunt you down, and don't make me ask more than once."

"You're real intimidating," Touma called, physically demanding that his body remained immobile. "You're so scary! I think I'm going to curl up into a fucking ball and cry! Lanky, goofy-ass motherfucker! Get the fuck out of my face!"

"Perhaps you're a bit too outspoken Imagine Breaker. I think your point has gotten across with some degree of success."

Touma shook his head, as he threw himself down upon the bench which Othinus had seated herself upon, ensuring that there was enough space between the two, in case Index sought to sit between them.

"Sorry. Again. It's just, I know things about him now. It all came out in the wash and this is what we're left with.

"He's involved with child traffickers, the Child Errors that get chopped up and experimented on and that's just scratching the surface! He fucked up one of my closest friends, ripped her fucking eye out! If that doesn't piss you off, then I don't know what will. He's with the prostitution rings, occultists who kidnap people in the streets to carve them up and sacrifice them to… fucking I don't know what! He told me before that he was involved with different organizations, but… just what the FUCK? You don't just get over that!"

"And so you think he deserves to die."

Index spoke her own piece, her words delivered with a degree of calmness that unsettled Kamijou Touma, and rattled the already battered nerves of the former Magic God, Othinus.

"Yes! I mean… no. I don't… what do you want to hear from me Index? That he can be 'redeemed' or something? I don't believe that, not for a second. It's a fucked up fantasy to believe that. Not everyone deserves to have a second chance.

"He _knows_ that what he's doing is wrong and he doesn't give even a single shit! Not even one tiny insignificant shit pellet dropped from the metaphorical ass of a nonexistent rabbit! Tsuchimikado's not some flawed tragic hero! Am I going to go out of my way to kill him? No, probably not unless he does something stupid, unless he absolutely needs to be stopped.

"Trafficking rings I can break up and the same goes for occultists. No more baddies means no more money or whatever he's gaining from his involvement. There. Is that logical enough, Index? I think that's reasonable."

"Touma. You sound confused."

"I am fucking confused."

Silence fell, as Index found her way to the bench. While Othinus had taken to leaning back, peering up at the sky dotted with clouds, white and fluffy that were rather non-threatening in their collective appearances, Index set herself next to her guardian, who looked straight ahead, occasionally blinking more out of an old and hard-dying habit than out of the need to sate some biological need.

"It's our turn to help you," Index softly spoke. She wrapped either of her arms around her guardian's right. "We both need to help each other. Maybe you need to keep accepting and requesting help from the people who care about you the most. There a lot of people care about you very much! You don't need to suffer in silence and deal with everything on your own!"

Othinus nodded, her right leg repeatedly bouncing up and down against her left. Anxiousness wracked her form, bringing anomalous throbbing sensations to her lower chest, and in the space between her breasts, as well.

"The nun isn't wrong, Imagine Breaker. Your recent avoidance behavior has been foolish at best and detrimental to your health at worst, if health is something you still are required to concern yourself with."

"I'm sorry for kind of… for going crazy there."

"I've seen worse."

"It wasn't all that bad! You just yelled a lot."

For some time, the three sat in silence before they rose from the bench, and followed in the footsteps of the Backstabbing Blade, Tsuchimikado Motoharu. There was no suggestion spoken, and no order given. The trio had simply and silently agreed on the course of action to take next.

Rather than clinging to their mutual benefactor, Index and Othinus walked casually at either of his sides, less like protective mother bears and more like friends who were willing to throw themselves into the heat of combat at any given moment should such a moment have arisen.

Their return to the dormitory was a mostly silent one, as was their careful ascent up the creaking staircase within the ever-darkened stairwell.

Upon returning to Touma's dorm itself there was a comfortable and accepted silence which continued to shadow Kamijou Touma, Index and Othinus.

Their nightly rituals, fitting into their overarching nightly routines, consisting of the consumption of Othinus' and Index's respective dinners, Index's allocated bathing time (which was extended by an hour due to the former Magic God having already bathed earlier in the afternoon hours of the day), and finally the period of time in which the three would sit themselves in front of Touma's "Idiot Box" and watch a talking head offer their less than unique spin on current events, celebrity gossip, or the weather; whether said weather forecast called for rain or shine the "news actor" hosts always had some wince-inducing dialogue to drivel on about.

At least, that was how Kamijou Touma viewed Academy City's many state-sponsored, propaganda-riddled new stations. In the end, he was quite grateful when Index changed the channel.

Of course, an overexcited Index and a begrudging Othinus just absolutely had to view the newest episode of Magical Powered Kanamin. It helped both remove themselves from the events that surrounded them, offered them an escape from the strangeness and from the aggression displayed between Kamijou Touma and Tsuchimikado Motoharu, not to mention the fact that many a thing was clearly wrong with their mutual benefactor.

As the credits rolled, with Magical Powered Kanamin's slow and heartfelt ending theme droning like the buzzing wings of some unknown insect, Othinus parted her lips, unceremoniously exposing the inside of her mouth and yawned as her eyelids were forced shut, liquid fleeing from their corners as she then began to smack her lips together.

"That episode was kind of sad," Index stated, offering her thoughts to the former Magic God who sat on the floor beside her. Touma had laid himself out on his bed, staring up at the ceiling as he engaged in a series of mental exercises with his bursts of data.

"I can't believe the Pope would try and kill Kanamin-sensei! That's not something a Pope does! The Pope's supposed to be kind and understanding!"

Othinus nodded in agreement.

"Quite. Perhaps the Pope isn't exactly what he seems? There is a chance that he could be one of Lord Belial's minions and that the Roman Catholic Church, if not all of Vatican City are under demonic occupation."

"Your conspiracy theories are unbearable," Index groaned. "Not everyone who's bad is a demon."

Her head was shaken from right to left, like the former Magic God was speaking to a wayward child.

"Not all antagonists are demons, but all demons are antagonists, at least in Magical Powered Kanamin's universe."

"H-huh?"

Othinus chuckled quietly to herself. She rose from her seat on the floor while she stretched. Pressing the "menu" key on the television's remote, the built-in menu screen was commanded to appear and it did so after a few moments of input lag wracked the device.

According to the menu screen's clock, it was some few minutes after nine o'clock in the evening. Another hour, and the former Magic God would have to get herself to bed. Index lived on no such schedule though she often found herself falling asleep earlier than she'd like to, regardless of this fact.

Clad in her nightwear, Othinus had thrown herself down upon the bed, next to Kamijou Touma who, per usual as of the present wasn't perturbed in the slightest.

He was even less perturbed when the former Magic God wrapped her arms around him, and cuddled as close as she could. He simply placed his arm around her, and welcomed the physical attention.

Index suddenly found herself in an awkward state of being indeed.

Blood rushed to her face, causing her cheeks to glow a shade of bright red; the little nun could almost feel the black, noxious and proverbial steam pouring from either of her ears.

"You don't have to look at us like that, Index. It's just cuddling, you can join in any time you want and I'm almost sure that it wouldn't make you an evil sinner doomed to burn in Hell."

The little nun huffed aggressively, and stuck her nose up at her guardian and at the former Magic God. She closed her eyes, and folded her arms across her chest as she faced their direction, like some sort of gargoyle atop a cathedral whose vigil was never-ending.

Then, she found herself yawning; Othinus' previous yawn had contaminated the nun, who slumped forward as the exhaustion of the day's events began to wear on her and forcibly push down upon her little shoulders.

It hadn't been so bad in the morning when she'd 'shared' Touma with the once-Majin or during the numerous other instances when he'd managed to worm his way into the bed that rightfully belonged to her. Maybe it could be done again?

Quietly, she pouted, her cheeks glowing redder than the shade of a beet's outer shell. Adorned in her own simplistic nightwear, her habit and headpiece hung unworn next to her guardian's old jacket. Index then reluctantly set herself down upon the bed's edge, at first.

It was almost like a sleepover. It wasn't like they were going to engage in some sort of orgy of sin and violence. Friends hugged one another all the time.

But did the little nun want to be more than 'just friends' with her guardian, the boy who'd selflessly put his own well-being aside to follow her into Hell? She didn't quite know. An answer wasn't an easy thing to obtain and it couldn't be instantaneously conjured.

Kamijou Touma opened his available arm welcomingly, and smiled at the silver-haired nun who remained sitting on the bed's edge.

"I'm not trying to push you, you know. I was mostly joking anyways. I only want it if you're comfortable, Index. I can go sleep in the tub, it doesn't hurt. Never really did at all but now I don't even feel it. It's even less of an inconvenience, not that it was one in the first place. Heh."

"Oh, no you don't Imagine Breaker. You're not going off to lay there on your own after everything you've only just told us. I won't allow you to have a pity party nor will I allow you feel as if you are not welcomed in the living space that's rightfully yours."

"It's really not that big of a deal, Oth…"

Index mustered all the confidence that she could, reached out and grabbed onto what she sought to achieve.

The little nun had slid herself beneath her guardian's other free arm, pulling the cold and surprisingly calm-inducing limb over her form.

Index's blush only grew as she like Othinus before her clung to him, wrapping her arms around an available section of his torso. The icy sensation of her arms pressing tightly against Touma's form brought Index a familiar and welcomed comfort, one which generally only came along with the sensation of resting her head against the cold surface of a pillow in chilly winter months.

Othinus' quiet breathing was the only sound that could be heard. Kamijou Touma craned his neck, and looked down towards the perpetually-blushing and lightly trembling form of Index.

Despite her body's physically odd behavior, her lips had curled into a thin, pleased smile. Her eyelids closed of their own accord, causing her azure irises to vanish from sight. Fatigue was beginning to claim her and her higher mind flipped the switch that would place her form into 'sleep mode'.

"Touuu-maaa. It's okay Tou-ma. We love you… I love you… because you're… you… different… feelings. Same Tou-ma."

Though he'd intended at first to spend the evening prowling, he certainly couldn't leave the people who loved him so very much behind. They were willing to accept him and to put aside their own fears and prejudices to give him a fair chance. They were willing to get to know the thing he'd become and to adjust to the changes that he'd experienced.

How could he leave them for the cold unfeeling streets? Where some might've turned tail and fled from him and what he'd become, they did not. Index who'd been victimized and forced to memorize over one hundred thousand Grimoires and the former Magic God Othinus, the one who'd put him through thousands of deaths and unbearable and unspeakable torture, yet came to Understand him better than anyone he'd ever known. These were two individuals capable of looking at the bigger picture and of seeing the surviving fragments of their dear one within the nanorobotic monster.

Maybe with the cat out of the bag he would have to cease his butchery of those he deemed to be problematic or otherwise undeserving of life. That would be a sacrifice worthy of making to ensure that he could remain at the sides of Index and Othinus. It was a compromise that could be reached. Maybe he could be the one to lay down such terms to further prove himself, to show them that Kamijou Touma was not completely gone from the world.

Index slowly faded from consciousness. Her arms fell limp, remaining wrapped around her guardian's torso. Her blush began to dissipate and she started to lightly snore. One two, one two, one two, her chest's rhythmic rises and falls were felt by Kamijou Touma.

"Has the nun fallen asleep?"

"Yeah, Othi-chan. What sort of plot are you… okay that's dangerous that is VERY dangerous. This is dangerous territory. Code red, code red CODE RED."

"I'm aware. Now accept my love."

The former Magic God apparently still wished to physically show her love for her Understander despite the evening's revelations, even though she'd seen what he truly was when his skin came off. Her fingers delicately worked Touma's pants, pulling them away from his legs. Though she removed and then threw them from the bed, the loose collection of machine-phase matter surged back into its main mass, disappearing into Touma's leg.

With his 'utensil' erect, nanorobotic resin coursing throughout the mechanical mock-up of a male human being's genitalia, Othinus wrapped her thin and delicate fingers around it while the soft palm of her hand was lightly pressed against the utensil's shaft. Touma didn't quite know why exactly Othinus was so mystified by her Understander's private organ, but he wasn't going to complain about it.

He could complain about the fact that Index could wake up any moment, bear witness to the perverse act taking place before her and completely flip out. While this was a valid concern for the both of them, it was more than likely that Othinus thrived off and got her rocks off to that concern.

It was slowly worked up and down, Othinus performed gentle tugging motions, moving her wrist with precision and caution. Within himself, Touma commanded his data to bend to his will.

" _I want to cum, so make it happen. Just let me spill it all over the place so Othi-chan's satisfied. I want to satisfy her, so let me blow my fucking load. Cum. Cum now."_

" _/HIGHMIND TERMINAL:/ FORCE EXECUTABLE LAUNCHER. /ENTER. "CUM" NOT RECOGNIZED. INVALID COMMAND."_

" _Execute cum protocol?"_

" _/HIGHMIND TERMINAL:/ FORCE PROTOCOL LAUNCH SUBROUTINE. "CUM" NOT RECOGNIZED SYSTEMS PROTOCOL. INVALID SUBROUTINE."_

Othinus began to use her mouth. Either of her lips were placed around the utensil, and she attempted to push it deep into her throat. The effort was noble even if she failed in her attempt, which resulted in her gagging. Touma understood on some level he was almost a character in one of those NTR manga. Then again, Index wasn't his girlfriend; NTR didn't technically apply to his situation.

Even more than before Touma hoped she didn't awaken. The physical attention he was receiving satisfied him, no doubt, but Othinus seemed to pick the worst times to show her love (though when it came to the former Magic God's fetishes, situations of a risky nature were welcomed to come about at any time).

The nun stirred. Within a fraction of a millisecond, Kamijou Touma's dark-colored jeans returned to his body. His machine-phase matter worked diligently, not only to save his hide and the hide of Othinus, but to cockblock the former Magic God as well. Suddenly there was nothing save oxygenized air that remained in her hand.

"Curses," the former Magic God lamented, venom in her voice.

Frustrated and disillusioned the former Magic God rolled over onto her side, allowing her hair to invade her Understander's personal space and rub against his nose and his lips.

For a while Kamijou Touma laid in his bed, with Index to his left and Othinus to his right. At one point, he shifted himself, rolling to face the latter. Touma embraced her, practically absorbing her warmth as he softly kissed the back of her neck. Othinus occasionally shivered, and once unconsciously thrust her posterior against her Understander's crotch, but didn't awaken from her slumber. During this time, Index remained latched onto her guardian like a little silver-haired monkey.

Eventually, in fear of waking Othinus on a school evening or worse, waking Index and having her demand that her guardian make her something to eat at the wee hours of the morning, Touma relented and accepted the fact that he'd have to wait until the next "sexual frustration relief therapy" session to have his way with the deeply attractive being he Understood.

With these elements in mind he rose and made his way to the television set (only after he'd managed to pry Index off) which he flicked on.

There was something that he was after, a certain program that had come to regularly air itself on one of Academy City's family-friendly broadcasting networks. The program in question seemed to air only in the early morning at approximately 4:08 AM and in the late evenings at approximately 12:04 AM. Considering that it was nearly three o'clock, according to the television's menu screen, he'd have to wait a while to see if the pattern continued; and waited he did.

Kamijou Touma caught the last few minutes of a young adult children's show, the plot or purpose of which he hadn't been able to discern within the short span of time allocated, then sat through a cheery, glitter-stuffed (and almost completely nonsensical) episode of "A Certain Lovely Dream Gekota-Sama!" and finally braved an episode of some lesser known children's anime, which featured a pink, talking blob character named "Hiroshi" as the lead, who seemed to get into more whimsical misadventures than was healthy; Touma was almost reminded of the being he'd once been.

It was at hand; Kamijou Touma, seated on the floor before the television set leaned forward. Pale rays of light bathed his form in their glow.

Touma waited as he suffered through a wince-inducing cooking program, hosted by an anthropomorphized oven mitt with beady eyes and a cartoonish, exaggerated smile. The character was just beginning to start singing before, like clockwork, the broadcast began to shift. Tides of static washed over the screen and reduced the character's vocalizations to low gurgles before the screen was awash in an inky void.

Atop, below and on either side of the screen, "ANNOUNCEMENT: SPECIAL PRESENTATION" was printed in large, silver letters.

Like he always did at approximately 4:11 AM, a broad shouldered, tuxedo-clad (and presumably male) individual hobbled into frame, with a brown paper bag over his head. Two holes had been cut for him to see through. He sat his posterior upon something unseen, folded his hands and then placed them in his lap. He sat upright and at attention, as if he was in a professional setting. For a few moments the paper bag man shifted his weight from one side of his invisible seat to the other.

Even if it was merely the same looped recording played continuously, always at the same times every single day of the week, the anomalous and intrusive broadcast was almost morbidly intriguing to Kamijou Touma, as was the presenter himself.

"Hello there. Welcome to our special presentation. We hope we find you and yours in good health, wealth and in happiness. We apologize if we've startled you, please don't be afraid. We mean you no harm.

"A message of the utmost urgency we must deliver to you now so that your eyes will be opened to the truth about the world around you, a truth which has been obscured for far too long. We will not be speaking of grand government conspiracies or the purported truth regarding extraterrestrial life… not exactly.

"We will be speaking to you as of now about the topic of a coveted and hoarded part of our world known to the hoarders as 'magic'. The power to heal all wounds and the power to fix the world, an infinite and unending power based on the human mind's ability to weave a narrative into being is being held from the deserving public by agents of domination who would prefer to see an agenda fulfilled than to see a better world.

"If you find yourself interested, dear viewer, please Oseltaeb. There you'll learn everything. With the public's assistance, we can liberate this revolutionary and naturally-occurring piece of our world for all to use. Sickness will be eradicated. War fought by human soldiers – husbands, sons, nephews, brothers and uncles – will be obsoleted. Oseltaeb. We'll meet you there. Have a good evening and thank you for your time. The Sons of Taured wish you and your loved ones well."

Just as quickly as it'd come the broadcast faded, and a static-ridden screen returned. It danced and its grey, buzzing tides soon dissipated revealing again an anthropomorphized oven mitt who looked far too happy for its own good.

What or who was "Oseltaeb"? Who or what were the "Sons of Taured?"

Kamijou Touma wracked his data and demanded not only information, but knowledge as well from bursts directed outwards from within the invisible library inside of him.

His data came up empty, as it always did when these demands were made of them. Touma almost felt as if he was becoming obsessed with the paper bag man. He spoke so calmly and his words were pronounced with such elegance. The paper bag man was like some type of veteran narrator who'd speak over captured footage in a documentary.

There was one person with whom Touma could discuss the incredibly mysterious and equally charming paper bag man without being judged. In this there was only one problem, however;

Kumokawa Seria didn't know of magic.


	11. Something Broken, Something Fixed

Kamijou Touma had burned the night away. If the night (and the subsequent early hours of the morning) could've been compared to a candle, it would've been one that melted cautiously, slowly worked and whittled by flame.

In this case, the figurative candle's flame were the various entertainment mediums in the dorm that were available to Touma.

After he'd flipped through the few channels available to him on his basic cable subscription, he'd spent the rest of the early morning on the Internet, trolling through social media posts and marvelling at the idiocy of his fellow netizens, especially in the comments sections of conspiracy-oriented videos floating around on ViewHuntr. It hardly came as a surprise to Touma that the world's largest video sharing website had its fair share of crackpots.

Many of these more outlandish videos had lead Kamijou Touma straight into the manic depths of the looney side of the Internet; those who dwelt there were convinced that, among other absolutely outlandish fringe theories, Hebrew-speaking reptilian bankers ruled over the world with an iron fist. If they were to be believed, lizards were orchestrating world events in order to eventually play the final trump card that would lead them to world domination, which was apparently these nefarious amphibians' endgame goal, for reasons that couldn't or wouldn't be explained.

Before either of his charges had awoken, Touma had pried himself from the insanity of the dark web's borders and prepared breakfast for both. Two dozen eggs for Index, along with many a strip of bacon and almost ten slices of buttered toast. For the former Magic God something much smaller had been thrown together; a chocolate chip muffin with an enormous, puffy top had been warmed in the microwave, topped with warm, creamy butter.

Setting either of their respective meals (though Touma considered Index's to be more of a feast than a simple meal) down upon the table, he moved towards his bed where either young woman rested.

Index's leg dangled over the side of her bed, as did her arm. Othinus had ended up rolling onto her back at some point in the night and held her pillow tightly in her arms. The former Magic God's head rested against the bed itself.

It surprised Touma that the little nun's nose hadn't been stimulated by the intoxicating smells wafting from the collection of food; she must've been deep in slumber, possibly within a food-stuffed dream of her own.

Othinus seemed to stir, on the other hand.

With the food nearby her mortal brain had clicked into working order, pushing her away from sleep's hold over her mind and body.

She rose slowly, groaning to herself as her bones cracked and her muscles flexed. Othinus stretched once she'd sat upright, moaning in satisfaction as she did so.

At some point or another darkened clouds had settled over the skies of Academy City, and judging by the repeated, rhythmic sounds of tapping on the windows and against the outside of the dormitory, rain had come along with the threatening cloud coverage as a wingman and confidant. Though some natural light entered the dorm, it was synthetic light that saved the day.

Othinus made careful steps over the form of the slumbering nun.

"Morning, Imagine Breaker."

She approached and soon took her Understander into her arms. She stood on her toes and kissed his lips, arms finding their way to Touma's shoulders. The coppery taste of his lips (and of his entire body, his clothing included) was becoming familiar to her. It was a taste she found herself enjoying.

His hands fell upon her posterior, squeezing tightly.

"Morning right back at you. How'd you sleep? Have any pleasant dreams you'd like to tell me about?"

A grin tugged at the corner of her lips.

"Sugarplums and fairies. That was a jest; I dreamed of having this body violated by you of course."

That perked up Touma's interest. He pulled her close, grinding Othinus' crotch against his own, which she seemed to enjoy. It was a blessing that she was just as interested in sexually explicit conduct as he was.

Of course, it made enough sense to him that being celibate for countless aeons would have that affect on a person.

Just as Touma was about to ask the being he Understood about what sort of explicit dreams she'd experienced, Index stirred. Both the former Magic God and the scientific experiment gone just a bit too correctly parted from one another. Othinus politely and innocently set herself down at the table, crossing her legs and looking from one side of the room to the other to further prove her innocence to the nun if she awakened.

Awakened she did; Index's mind must've finally convinced her body that rousing itself from the depths of a comfortable sleep was worth it if delicious food was involved. Whatever dream the little nun had been absorbed in was no match for the scent of real and truly consumable food.

"Tou-ma! You made breakfast! I'm going to stuff myself until I can't eat anymore! So HUNGRY! THANK YOU!"

Like a bat who'd rushed out from the depths of Hell the nun bolted to the table, barely able to stop herself from crashing directly into it. She skidded to a halt, threw herself down onto her posterior and immediately dug in, completely unconcerned by the fact that she was consuming her feast like a barbarian might've in the days of old. How she didn't suffer from indigestion was beyond the realms of both Touma's and Othinus' respective knowledges.

An unimpressed Othinus breathed a sigh of frustration, nonchalantly biting into her muffin.

"Quite. Many thanks, Imagine Breaker… but, nun, you really ought to consume your meals more politely. Your lack of manners is unladylike and your insistence on consuming gargantuan amounts of nutrients could come to have potentially devastating side effects on your relatively small body."

Index didn't even bother to take the time to reply. She simply continued to shovel her morsels into her gaping maw, consuming all edible things around her like a vacuum forcibly ingesting so many dust bunnies.

Othinus didn't choose to pursue the issue any further. Thus, Kamijou Touma simply made his way to the kitchen area where he flipped open and then powered on his laptop. The computer came to life, exiting sleep mode as its internal 'organs' whirred. Touma navigated to and then refreshed the EpiCenter feed.

Plenty of not only text-based posts but photos as well from Aogami Pierce, about Aogami Pierce's failed attempts at entering a female-only bathhouse with that blundering fool Osamu Yuki could be seen, complete with a rant from Fukiyose Seiri in the comments section of one of the offending photos, but not much else was present. Fukiyose Seiri herself had uploaded a picture depicting the fruits of Himegami Aisa's labors, a large block of lasagna which apparently looked quite tasty from where Touma was standing. Boxed or not, it was certainly an appealing dish.

Touma scrolled for some few more minutes before he ceased to engage in the paltry distraction. Navigating to EpiCenter's chat bar, Touma started a new chat with Kumokawa Seria, adding the subject line "play date", a grin tugging at the corner of his lips before he began to type his message.

" _Morning Seria, hope you slept well! Let me know what's up at your earliest convenience? I'm really looking forward to seeing you again (even if that means being a delinquent and making Komoe-sensei cry)!"_

The proclamation of "courtship" (or pseudo-courtship at the very least) was delivered to Kumokawa Seria's inbox. Touma left the computer behind, minimizing out of the EpiCenter window and leaving the computer to idle as it displayed its desktop.

Index had completely consumed her feast in the span of time it would've taken the average human being to consume a singular piece of toast, which was an unsurprisingly feat to Kamijou Touma and the once-Magic God Othinus.

The little nun leaned back, rubbing her belly with either of her hands as she smiled contentedly. The feast fit for a queen had temporarily done the trick, but she'd eventually seek more.

On the other hand, Othinus was only just finishing her enormous muffin. The former Magic God repeatedly dabbed at her chin with a nearby napkin, catching dripping streams of butter that managed to flee her lips.

Kamijou Touma was reminded of a very different type of thick and milky substance. His mind, no matter how heightened or enlightened, was deep in the gutter. Touma accepted his fate and dealt as best as he could.

"Nun, I have a theory about the current events transpiring in Magical Powered Kanamin."

Both Index and Touma found themselves in a state of shock. It was always Index who was pestering Othinus about her wild fascination with Kanamin, and yet before them the tables had been turned.

Othinus had broken her own set conventions for whatever reason she saw it fit to do so.

The former Magic God seemed to pick up on this, shrugging either of her shoulders as both Touma and Index looked on at her, both finding themselves awkwardly chuckling, more to themselves than to each other.

An excited Index crawled forward as best as she possibly could, struggling to pull her body (which felt quite bloated) along.

The former Magic God had the nun's attention. She looked curiously into her co-habitant's eyes, her head tilting to one side as if she was urging the blonde to speak.

Kamijou Touma watched on curiously, glad to see the two interacting of their own accord. Othinus' communication skills were already greatly improving. In the end, the frog-faced doctor had been correct, seemingly as he always had been and likely as he always would be.

There was a small 'bleep' from the kitchen area, projected from the laptop's external speakers. While Othinus began to regale Index with her conspiracy theory regarding the Pope of Magical Powered Kanamin's universe actually being an aspect of the One True God on Earth, Touma returned to his laptop and maximized the Qoozle Navigator window.

For a moment Touma considered the possibility that it was Tsuchimikado Motoharu informing him that he and his co-habitants were about to be dragged off on the ill-fated 'adventure' looming over them like the darkened clouds in the sky, but the message turned out to be not from the snake, but from Touma's beloved senpai. Relief washed over him like a wave.

" _About time! Hmph!_

" _I kid I kid! It's so very good to hear from you again as well. I love your previous little messages so much! I can't get enough of them! When you're so kind to me in that way that you are, my heart simply melts inside of my chest. You're almost too sweet to me. Don't tell anyone… this will be our little secret, and I certainly have no reason not to trust you, but I can have some strings pulled if you'd like to play hooky with me and get away with it."_

Hooky? That sounded interesting.

Kamijou Touma leaned forward, balancing his form's limited weight against the kitchen area's counter as he silently contemplated what exactly Kumokawa Seria was talking about. Did she have some sort of high-ranking position within the City's infrastructure which she kept quiet? Such secrecy would be understandable. His senpai was certainly intelligent enough to be of help to some sort of less than intelligent individual or individuals who needed a powerful thinking mind. Perhaps she even ran her own show behind closed doors?

His curiousness would have to stay buried. Such a topic was obviously none of his business. Touma quickly took to typing up a fitting and appropriate reply.

" _Playing hooky huh? I think I could get in on that if you'd like to be my partner in crime. I'm pretty much ready to go anytime, so it's all on you. No pressure though! I can entertain myself (not like that, not at this hour anyway) until you're ready to bring it together. It's going to be so nice to do something fun with a normal person, especially someone as beautiful, smart and charismatic as you."_

A response came almost instantly.

" _Now you're just making me blush. You're working towards a well-deserved reward aren't you my sweet little kohai? I've prepared myself ahead of time as I woke quite early this morning, though I suppose it makes enough sense, I slumbered quite early as well. Beauty sleep, see. You need not worry about any sort of hustles and/or bustles related to pubic transportation, I've a personal vehicle I can chauffeur you in. It would be my high honor to do so."_

That just sounded like it was the closes thing to a Heaven on Earth that Kamijou Touma was going to find. Being in a car with an attractive older girl, a young woman who obviously had intense feelings for him? That was a win, in his books. Even if he and Othinus frequently engaged in sessions of "sexual frustration relief therapy", neither was bound to the other. They were merely two Understanders who sought to deal with a biological bother.

" _Ready whenever you are. I've got extra pocket money, so consider any gas expenses paid. Only seems right, even if we meet halfway or something of the sort."_

" _Gas? Oh, you silly boy. My vehicle is fully electric, enviro-friendly."_

" _Are you an ojou-sama or something?! Why didn't I know about this?! How loaded ARE you?! Haha."_

" _Loaded" enough to spoil you rotten. If you'd be so kind as to supply me with directions to a location near your place of residence, I'd be more than honored to pick you up and whisk you off with me. I can't fully guarantee that I'll bring you back, however. I might just want to keep you all to myself. I jest of course… unless that's what you'd like."_

"Tease" wouldn't have been the right word to describe Kumokawa Seria.

If Touma sought to immediately engage in sexually explicit conduct with her, he was almost certain that Seria would tend to his physical desires without complaint. That was part of his desire, though not all of it.

Some old-fashioned good (and normal) times stuffed to the brim with positive vibes were the goal to be achieved, at least in Kamijou Touma's mind.

Opening another tab, Touma navigated to Qoozle Locations, obtained a map pointing out the location of the park near his residence in school district seven and delivered it to Seria via a copied and pasted link, transferred from the Qoozle Locations tab and into the EpiCenter tab. Seria soon sent a message acknowledging that she received the details and left the two-way chat after offering Touma her love in text form.

There was one final matter to attend to before he'd clear his browsing data for the ensured safe use of the computer by an exceedingly innocent Index, after which he'd power the faithful piece of technology down.

Opening a new tab and closing the others, Touma navigated to his bank's website, entered the required information into the required fields and requested a digital copy of his balance and recent activities.

There were numerous new deposits that'd been made, though this didn't come as a surprise to Kamijou Touma. Many of the 'companies' responsible for these large deposits were in fact nothing more than fronts to pull the wool over the collective eyes of potential interlopers. "AllNature Foods & Good Incorporated" and "the Hardware Store" were among the many fronts responsible for the very recent deposits, some up to ¥218,731 each.

Kihara Gensei was apparently satisfied enough to give Kamijou Touma his rightful payout, despite (or perhaps because of) the fact that he'd destroyed parts of he old man's derelict structure turned undocumented, off the radar laboratory and assisted a 'test' subject' in escaping from the facility.

In total, ¥4,871,144 had been deposited into Kamijou Touma's account. Even if it was blood money, he was oddly proud of his accomplishments. It wasn't like he was staining his hands with the lifeblood of innocents after all.

Surely, he wasn't some sort of monstrous hired goon who killed for coin.

Banishing that train of thought from his mind, he cleared the browser's history and then shut the laptop after he'd commanded it to turn itself off. The last thing Kamijou Touma needed was for Index to stumble upon something he or the perpetually-aroused former Magic God had searched, likely resulting in the innocent little nun fainting or otherwise being scarred for life.

He soon left the kitchen area and passed by the laundry room, the door leading into it was opened; the bathroom's door was closed however, and Index had sprawled herself out on the bed, her attention turned to the television. Othinus was evidently preparing herself for her own day.

The fact that a once all-powerful Magic God needed to obtain an education, allowing her to find proper work that would financially provide for her was almost humorous to Touma. She truly had well and truly become mortal in more ways than one. This series of thoughts weren't foreign to Touma; many a time he'd found himself questioning all the strangeness that once had and continued to unfold around him.

"You're spending too much time on that computer Touma," Index chastised. She rolled onto her back and held her arms up in the air, wiggling her fingers. The little nun looked up to the ceiling as she performed this strange ritual.

"Am I? I don't think so. I barely touch it."

"Are you going to school today?"

In response Touma shook his head, no. Index huffed in irritation.

"Not today, Index. I've plans with a… a friend. So until Othi-chan gets home you'll need to take care of yourself. There's food in the fridge and yen in the kitchen if you need anything food-related or otherwise."

"I'll invite Maika-chan over. We'll dirty the dorm up and leave the mess for you to clean as punishment for your sins, Touma. Through hard work you'll redeem yourself!"

Index giggled, indicating that she was only playfully taunting her guardian; but Touma wasn't quite that pleased with the little nun's situation.

She was safer in his dorm than she would even be in England, and yet with safety came semi-frequent isolation. An innocuous nobody of a fifteen-year-old girl couldn't safely roam the City streets alone and the girl who'd been forced to memorize over one hundred thousand Grimoires, effectively a living artifact of legend would find even less safety in wandering Academy City in solitude.

Touma felt terrible about the little nun's situation.

Closing the distance between them, Touma knelt before the little nun. Rolling over onto her stomach, Index kicked her legs up and crossed one bare foot over the other, supporting her head with either of her hands, her arms acting as leverage.

"Is there anything that's caught your attention lately? Anything at all? I got, erm, paid today, so I can buy you a little something. Just tell me if there's anything you want and I'll pick it up for you."

Index's eyes lit up like those of a small child presented with a toy they'd long been lusting after. Touma couldn't help but chuckle, lowering himself further so that his line of vision could be on an equal level with the little nun's own.

"Oh, how much? How much money did you manage to scrounge up this time, huh? Don't lie to me Touma, I won't make you spend it all on food... probably..."

"Just over six hundred thousand yen."

Even if that wasn't even a fraction of the sum he'd been paid for his recent 'efforts', such an amount of money was still more than enough to cause the little nun's eyes to nearly bulge right out of their sockets. She laid slack-jawed for a moment before she shook her head, regaining control over her own mind.

"W-W-WHAT?! Tou-ma! You're rich! Well… there was…"

Index trailed off, her right hand stroking her neck awkwardly as she giggled. Either of her cheeks glowed a feverish red, and her face almost sunk into the bedding itself.

"I was looking on your computer the other day, on Goodtech's website… and they have an incredible tablet-computer on sale, for… erm, well, for "only" just over fifty thousand!

"It's "octo "core!" I think that's good! Himegami said it is. There's another one that's got ten "cores" and Himegami said that's better. It's ten thousand yen more though. The octo core one has five hundred "gigabytes of storage" and the ten "cores" one has one hundred "terabytes of storage". That's a lot."

Though there was no itch present, Kamijou Touma thoughtfully scratched his chin for a short while, with Index looking on. Tilting her head to the left, Index let either of her legs fall to the bed, causing the frame to shudder.

"Any particular color, or does the tablet with ten cores come in only one?"

"Just white!"

He rose, and Index's big, curious eyes followed his form like those of a cat following its chosen prey.

"I'll think about it."

Index was more than just a little bit aware of the fact that these words effectively translated to a simple "yes" in the Kamijou residence.

The nun's lips curled, her facial expression becoming one of surprise before it became one of overt and overwhelming happiness. Index nearly squealed with joy, leaping up from he bed and leaping onto her guardian, wrapping her arms and legs around his form.

Without hesitation Touma returned the embrace. Effortlessly he supported the little nun's form as the two shared a moment of deep-rooted friendship and mutual fondness for one another.

"Thank you Touma! You'll help me learn to use it right? Maika's is easy to use but that one's simpler."

"Of course I will. Did you think I was just going to leave you high and dry like that?"

He realized the nature of his own admittedly rhetorical question, and emulated the sound of a human being's sigh. Evidently, his impression of such a vocalization was getting better; Index seemed to pick up on the fact that something was 'off' almost immediately.

"That's kind of what I've been doing lately, I know, and I know this is such a cliché but I had your best interests in mind, not only yours but Othi-chan's too, at least I thought I did. This is all still confusing and it sucks that you're strung up in it all."

"Touma... it's okay."

"I can't bring you guys in on any of that but we can help each other out in other ways, right?"

"Nobody can force you to do anything you don't want to do. It's okay."

Index's words were exactly what Kamijou Touma needed to hear. She obviously wasn't going to coddle him when it came to the matters he fully admitted were to be kept secret, but she wasn't going to turn against him for it.

In the end, it was all he could ask for from her, that was fair in and of itself.

Both still found themselves in each other's arms, and neither seemed to be all that concerned about this fact. Index had rested her chin against her guardian's icy shoulder, grasping onto his shirt with her small hands and holding on as tightly as she could.

"I'm going to have to say my sorrowful farewells to Othi-chan," Touma began, "but don't cry too much, I'll be back here to annoy you guys before long. If that idiot-snake comes knocking just tell him we're not ready. He'll… he'll know better than to try anything. He'd better know better."

Touma set Index down on her feet, and then lowered himself before her. Parting her bangs and her hair's fringe, he leaned in and placed a soft, cool kiss to the nun's forehead, causing her perpetually-present blush's crimson coloration to further deepen.

"I'm sure Maika will be around if you need anything. By the way, I'm… it's good to see you and Othi-chan spending time together. Feels nice to know that you guys are getting along alright. Love you; and I might just be bearing gifts when I get home. It'll have to stay a secret for now."

Predictably, she pouted; just as predictable was Touma's subsequent laughter, which continued even as he made his way into the laundry room, and then into the bathroom.

Left on her own, Index returned to the bed, falling back upon it with a lively giggle as her pet cat surfaced from within the sheets. Sensing that the anomalous Kamijou Touma was no longer present in the room, the small feline looked from one side and then to the other as its master gently patted its head.

"Othi-chan? Might I be granted entry?"

"If you must be."

With caution, he opened the bathroom door enough to squeeze himself through the opening provided and then closed the blockade behind him. Once inside, Touma the shower curtain folded closed, preventing him from viewing the former Magic God's naked form.

This didn't last, however.

The shower curtain was soon opened with carefulness by Othinus, who pushed the rather thick and quite heavy sheet of plastic to her left.

Othinus looked like she was some sort of high ranking individual in Academy City's nonexistent hierarchy. Like a princess having a royal bath the former Magic God was sprawled out in the tub, her toes peaking out from the massive amount of bubbles that covered the water she laid in. While her nose was above water, her mouth was submerged, continuously producing tiny ripples in the water. The former Magic God's hair looked more like golden fleece, evidence that it'd been recently scrubbed clean.

"Looks like you're having a good time in there."

"You could only imagine. This is figuratively heavenly. I'd request a footrub but I think you'd enjoy that far too much. Disgusting, lewd little human."

"Guilty as charged. Just fuck my shit up and call me Davey."

"Hm?"

"Never mind. It's not important. Just... this old guy I know. Long story."

Falling into a crouch, Touma neared the tub. Othinus raised her head as droplets of water, suds and bubbles fell from her face. Taking the former Magic God's chin into the fingers of his right hand, Touma leaned in and placed an affectionate kiss to Othinus' lips, causing her form to shudder.

A single kiss wasn't quite enough however; Touma soon began to lose himself in the body of the being he Understood so well, and she too lost herself in his icy, but remarkably soft physical form.

There was that coppery taste again, the taste that was slowly beginning to drive Othinus' mortal mind wild.

With their eyes closed, Othinus' arms found themselves around Kamijou Touma's shoulders, water and suds dripping down onto the bathroom's floor, creating a considerable mess that would inevitably have to be tended to. Neither were particularly perturbed by this.

"Is there any reasoning in particular behind this visitation, Imagine Breaker? Or were you simply seeking a kiss?" Othinus inquired, her voice soft, gentle, charming and seductive all at once.

Touma parted from a reluctant Othinus.

"I'm heading out pretty soon, going to bring it together with Kumokawa-san. You know, Beauty-Senpai? You guys have spoken before."

Othinus licked her lips and winked in her Understander's direction.

"I'm quite jealous, Imagine Breaker. Her body is truly sumptuous, as is her bosom. You ought to inquire as to whether this… "Beauty-Senpai" would be interested in a group liaison, merely out of curiosity of course. I'm merely assuming the nature of your meeting is one of sexually explicit conduct."

Even if that wasn't quite it, he wasn't about to deny that the interest was certainly there.

"It happens if it happens, nobody's forcing anything. That's not the way to do these sorts of things. Not fair to anyone involved on either side."

Othinus sank back into her bathwater. With twenty minutes to spare before she had to get herself out the door and headed for that place of education she had plenty of time to reward herself for a few moments. Either of her eyes closed, and she produced a soft sigh.

"So very relaxing… be a dear and pamper me for a moment, Imagine Breaker?"

The former Magic God shifted herself in the tub, leaning her back against the adjacent porcelain and folding her legs beneath her.

As if he knew just what to do, Kamijou Touma placed either of his hands upon Othinus' shoulders and gently massaged them, pressing his thumbs into her soft, silky skin and against her shoulder blades. Unintentionally she produced a low, soft moan, tossing her head back and causing stray clumps of suds and a collection of water to spray her Understander's face.

"Othi-chan, how would you feel if something "sexually explicit" happened, something that was just spur of the moment?"

"I'd say that your business is your own just as my business is my own. As well, monogamy is for the dull and for those who are untruthful with each other."

"Y'think? I don't know about that. Most people are in monogamous relationships," Touma remarked, shrugging either of his shoulders.

Othinus rolled her single functioning eye.

"What do you expect me to say? To demand that you sexually devote yourself entirely to me? I see no rings on these fingers. You and I are both free, Imagine Breaker."

"That's true. Honestly? It seems kind of boring to me now, too. Just... always fucking the same person, every night? It must get to the point that your mind starts drifting, y'know?"

"Quite. Do not burden your thoughts not with the inherently flawed mortal concept of "one love". Love itself is volatile and uncontrollable. It cannot be categorized or limited in such ways without truly catastrophic results coming about. Memorize worldwide divorce statistics if you wish to find proof."

She did have a point. Even Komoe-sensei had tearfully taught that, with a seventy-five percent divorce rate marriage was a construct doomed to crumble and fall.

Touma shrugged as he continued to massage the former Magic God's shoulders, causing her to quietly moan in pleasure.

Though he eventually ended up working his way down to her bosom, she didn't seem to mind. If anything she seemed to enjoy the attention. Either of her hands had found their way to her Understander's, her palms rested atop his icy extremities.

"Were you serious? About a three-way."

"Quite serious. I've found the idea quite appealing since I first viewed a pornographic film containing scenes of multiple female actors tending to the physical needs of a lone male actor, in case you were curious as to the inspiration behind such 'depravity'. The nun would scold me greatly for these thoughts."

Touma found himself chuckling; soon, Othinus joined him, quietly giggling under her breath.

"Index would be pretty peeved, but that's probably because she's... y'know. Burying a lot of thoughts. It must be difficult, abstaining from so many things the way that nuns do. No way I could do it, she's got bigger balls than I do, and Index doesn't even have balls. Well, she didn't the last time I checked."

"Oh? You've been having sexual intercourse with the nun? Bravo. If you have somewhere to be, you ought to get there sooner than later. Or perhaps you'd like for me to engage in delinquency with you?"

Such behavior couldn't be encouraged. One instance of "delinquency" could easily become another, and then another, so on and so forth.

But she was a smart one. Othinus wouldn't engage in behavior that would threaten her future as 'just another mortal'. Even if Komoe-sensei's tears would be shed upon realizing that two of her pupils had skipped not one but all of her classes, there had to be play to balance work.

Or did there have to be?

Touma still had an inquiry to pose.

"Othi-chan, you're supposed to be my "relative". If you did skip out and come along, how would we explain what you are to me? I don't think Beauty-Senpai knows about magic, and…"

There he almost went again; he nearly went and talked about Kumokawa Seria as if she was a weak, pathetic little princess in a tower that needed to be guarded. This couldn't have been any farther from the truth and Kamijou Touma knew it. He really did have progress to make before he'd stop being such a miserable, borderline misogynistic piece of shit.

Othinus stated the obvious. "You look worried; I was merely jesting. We don't even know if your exceedingly attractive acquaintance would be willing to engage in such a… taboo practice. You also highlight a valid point, there is and likely always be a delicate balance between two sides of the world-coin.

"Go on and have your fun Imagine Breaker, I'll be right here waiting to ravaged, torn open and raped by you… I mean, to make sweet, sweet love to you of course. In no way shape or form would I enjoy it if you forcibly pushed yourself inside of me and made me your personal whore."

He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head.

"Love you, Othi-chan."

"I enjoy your company as well… heheheh. I love you as well. You aren't lying to me, are you?"

"About?"

"About spending time with your exceedingly attractive friend. If I learn that you're going off on your own, Imagine Breaker, I'll be redacting your access to my womb. In seriousness, times of distress are not times you should face alone."

"I'm not lying Othi-chan. No more lies, I promise."

"That's all I can ask for. Off with you then. Have your fun and try not to get home too late."

Kamijou Touma found his way out of the dorm's bathroom, out of its laundry room and then beyond the dorm completely, after he waved one final wave to Index, which the little nun returned as she half-paid attention to her guardian and half-paid attention to the television set in front of her.

Through the stairwell he passed and then through the lobby, Kamijou Touma moved like greased lightning. Though he neglected to tear up the roadways and the cobbled walkways beyond his dormitory during his short and equally swift trip towards the park, Touma certainly caught the attention of individuals with wandering eyes; he was fast even by esper standards, more of a blurred and an opaque mass of grey than a human being.

The sky above was beginning to clear. The clouds were pushed away by sections of cloudless blue sky, chaos and order seemingly going to war above.

Though he'd evidently arrived before Kumokawa Seria (who must've been running late, as he by his own admission had taken a fair amount of time to get himself to their rendezvous location), Kamijou Touma didn't find himself alone in the park.

The expansive field was clear even of students by the nearby educational facility, but an issue remained: the park was being temporarily inhabited by a group of three young male individuals. They'd overtaken the jungle gym, while the park's other recreational facilities remained free to use.

They were like roaches; but they weren't just any roaches. Kamijou Touma had encountered these roaches before on a night whose events felt like they'd played out before him so very long ago, the night in which he'd crossed paths with Misaka Mikoto, the Railgun, not for the first time.

Something happened to Kamijou Touma. He didn't quite understand what the anomalous happenings were, but they were happening. Whether it was one or many he wasn't sure.

Before him, his vision shifted, almost becoming pixelated, riddled-with static as machine-phase matter danced before him. For a moment, Kamijou Touma lost control of his form; and then he saw himself.

The apparent ringleader of the bumbling, idiot delinquents still wore his dark, brown-colored hair long, though he'd apparently obtained a superior fashion sense since he and Kamijou Touma had first met on that night. A simple short-sleeved shirt and equally simple, innocuous-looking jeans adorned his form, with a pair of trainers that looked like they'd cost quite the pretty penny.

He seemed curious at first; he'd raised his outstretched hand to his forehead as he left his post upon the park's jungle gym. Leaping down to the cedar below he approached, his steps careful and deliberate. Two of the apparent ringleader's goons stepped in. One resembled a lanky, far less attractive version of Hamazura Shiage while another had brown skin, obviously a foreigner. Like their apparent leader their respective getups were casual enough.

The apparent ringleader made a bold proclamation, folding his arms across his chest as he came to a halt.

"Well, shit! Never thought we'd see _you_ again! It's the fuckin' hero! Was it worth it? Did you end up sticking it in the Tokiwadai girl's pooper?"

Kamijou Touma had appeared in front of the delinquent children somehow; it obviously hadn't been the work of a teleportation ability of some sort, as _something_ had certainly been seen between the space his form had covered; regardless, the mechanics of the swift means of travel remained anomalous nonetheless.

Ugly Hamazura Shiage shot Kamijou Touma a glare, taking a step forward and spitting into the grass. He grunted aloud like some sort of rabid animal.

"He was talkin' to you motherfucker. Your ears alright?"

There was a shriek of pain and cries of surprise. The sounds reverberated throughout the unpopulated field, reaching the skies and spooking the birds who'd taken to resting in the scattered trees.

The apparent ringleader's hand, taken into Kamijou Touma's own was instantaneously crunched like a vehicle in a scrapyard reduced to a compact cube. The density of Touma's extremity had increased exponentially.

If the apparent ringleader's hand had been run over by the wheels of a freight train, the pressure applied likely would've been less than what was being applied by "the hero". Bones were irreparably shattered and flesh was torn as the apparent ringleader was left with little more than a bloodied stump where a hand had been.

Within the terrified, sobbing once-ringleader – his cronies had turned tail and fled, leaving their 'superior' for dead – Kamijou Touma saw a hated enemy, a foe who would've shown him no mercy if the Railgun hadn't dealt with him and his goons, a piece of trash that should've been disposed of.

But was that his right?

Touma considered the possibility that nature and Darwin's theory of evolution would sort his old enemy out. Reduced to a whimpering, pleading and truly pathetic lump he was hardly worth killing at all.

Even if his old enemy wouldn't meet death, Kamijou Touma would leave his mark.

With a shove, the once confident and proud human being stumbled back and unceremoniously fell with a wracking sob, lifeblood spilling out onto the field's grass from his hideous, mangled wound.

"I'm not a hero. I'm not a villain either. I'm… something else, I'm your worst nightmare… I don't really have a reason for doing this to you, honestly. I just _want_ to… tell your buddies I said "hey". Here, a forget-me-not."

Zeeee, nunununuuu.

Kamijou Touma's index finger shifted, decomposing into a mass of swarming machine-phase matter. Once it reassembled, a small, vaguely knife-like blade was present where a finger had been.

With it, Touma sliced off his foe's right ear. Like the ear was made of butter it parted easily. The pathetic, weeping husk of a man screamed aloud; the severing itself was over in a fraction of a second, yet the pain was greater than anything he'd ever experienced before.

"Suffer."

"MMMMYYYYYYYYYY EEEEEEEEEEAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAARRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRRR!"

Touma rose and moved away, watching on amused as his old enemy weakly staggered upwards, barely able to support his body's weight with his own legs. With his surviving hand, he gripped the wound where an ear had once been and like his cronies before him he turned, fleeing as best he could. Occasionally he would stumble and fall and he'd inevitably rise again, his rather embarrassing weeping fading into the distance with his damaged body.

Then, the static cleared.

No one was harmed, there was no blood in the grass and Kamijou Touma found himself sitting upon the nearby bench, with the trio of troublesome youths at either of his sides.

"Are you alright? Sir? Please answer me, give me something, anything! Stay with us, sir! Pray, my friends!"

And that they did. The apparent ringleader's cronies began to repeatedly utter the 'Hail Mary' prayer, apparently hoping for the Divine Mother's protection to be laid upon their once-victim.

Kamijou Touma didn't know what was going on. The delinquent ringleader he remembered from so long ago seemed to be dead and gone.

Before him was not a person who'd attempt to solicit physical favors from a middle schooler; he didn't come across as someone of the sort through his refined speech and his soft tone of voice.

"Hold up."

Touma leaned forward as the delinquent ringleader produced a sigh of relief. The long-haired boy's fingers were wrapped around Touma's wrist, the boy's thumb rested where a pulse should've been.

"Sir, I don't mean to alarm you, but you don't have a pulse… somehow."

Ugly Hamazura Shiage offered Touma a bottle of 'organic spring water'.

"Are you like, cool, dude? You should totally be in Heaven and shit, knowmsayin'?"

Touma couldn't have been any more confused.

"Heaven…?"

The rather chubby brown boy rose from his seat on the bench. With his cap turned to the back, its northernmost logo facing to the south, he wore a baggy pullover sweatshirt and a pair of simple sweatpants. Rather than proper trainers or even boots he wore flip flops over his sock-clad feet.

"I think I understand your confusion, bro. We last met each other before my friends and I found Jesus. Before Jesus came into our lives, we committed truly atrocious crimes against our fellow kin. We chased you, if you don't remember, with the ill intent of harming you in some way. 'Were smart to run."

The ringleader nodded. He smiled genuinely at Touma, and his fingers remained over Touma's wrist; Touma was still far too confused to even act. He was waiting for something more, another part of the brown boy's explanation.

How could people living in the City of Science 'find Jesus'? Even if it was quite a surprising development, Touma had to admit that it wasn't a bad one by any means.

"DeWitt-san is correct. It would seem that we were fated to cross paths once more, so that you could learn more about Jesus, God's only begotten son, who he sent to Earth to save us from our own natural tendency to sin. That's how much God loves us!"

"Yeah, dude," Ugly Hamazura Shiage interjected. "God like totally loves everyone, man, even the atheists who live here in Academy City. He loves you too, man, knowmsayin'?"

Kamijou Touma could've asked the boys a thousand questions: how they'd managed to not only learn about but become devoted to God and his 'only begotten son' in a place like Academy City, why they'd decided to toss logic and atheism to the side to embrace theism, and if they were part of an organized religion were among these inquiries.

But Touma didn't want to know. The last thing the former Bearer of the Imagine Breaker wanted was to get himself involved in more sorcerous drama.

"We were in the middle of a rehearsal when you arrived before us, so we ought to return to our business; should you wish to observe us, feel free to do so. Also…"

The long-haired boy's smiled curled into a frown, just as the sounds of a rumbling vehicle could be heard nearby.

"Do you associate with the young lady from Tokiwadai? If so you could offer her our sincerest apologies for our past behavior, perhaps? Our coveting of her body was immoral and disrespectful."

"Yeah, dude. It was, like, not cool to hit on a girl in the middle of a restaurant like that. She could've, like, been one of our sisters or something, dude."

"For real, bro. Huge sorries all around. In fact, even Ralph was…"

Feeling like he was in some sort of surreal dream, Kamijou Touma rose from the bench and looked towards the field – more, he looked towards the section of roadway that was adjacent to the field. An expensive-looking sports car with paint and tinted windows as dark as night had pulled up next to the walkway. It quietly idled, the repeated, rhythmic thumps of a song's bass reverberating throughout the unoccupied field.

"You cool, man? You're, like, totally looking like you're hardcore wigging out, knowmsayin'?"

Touma produced an exasperated sigh; did everything and anything that happened to or otherwise around him have to be completely unordinary? His savior was in sight, so that was a plus; at least Kamijou Touma assumed the completely darkened vehicle belonged to Kumokawa Seria.

"Look, I don't give a shit about Ralph. It's fine, I'm sure. We all do things we regret. I guess it's good that you… y'know. That you, erm, found Jesus, or God, or both. Good… uh, good luck with your rehearsal and all that."

Having taken his wrist back from the long-haired boy, Kamijou Touma parted ways with them. He looked back once before he turned his attention to the darkened vehicle and saw the once-delinquent ringleader atop the jungle gym, making gestures with his hands and occasionally exclaiming "AMEN!" as his once-cohorts looked on in awe, repeating "AMEN!" whenever the once-delinquent speaker would do so.

In a place like Academy City, such a sight was almost surreal. Touma still felt as if he was in a twisted dream, a shattered version of the reality he knew Academy City to exist in. Science and faith didn't cross paths, not in everyday life.

The passenger side window of the midnight black vehicle rolled down, revealing the form of Kumokawa Seria. She waved in Touma's direction, smiling warmly as she silently welcomed him; the recipient of the kindness couldn't help but smile back.

Kumokawa Seria's heart skipped a beat at the sight of him.

The way he grinned made her stomach perform incredible acrobatic feats, twisting and turning within her. Kamijou Touma made Kumokawa Seria incredibly weak in the knees.

Prideful or not, there was no resisting him. There was magnetic pull about him that Kumokawa Seria couldn't and didn't want to shy away from. He was handsome, brave and more confident than ever before. What wasn't perfect about him?

All Seria wanted to do was take care of him. With each step he took, growing closer and closer to her vehicle, Seria's womanhood craved more and more to be filled by his manhood.

Then again, was that even possible given the state of Kamijou Touma's existence? Seria wasn't sure.

The fact that the parties responsible for harming her kohai would pay was practically the only matter Seria was entirely certain of. It was one matter that was complete fact.

She wasn't sure how she was going to exact her vengeance and she wasn't sure when said vengeance would be brought down upon the guilty, but Seria would see them suffer. She would see them suffer greatly.

Her thoughts drifted away from vengeance; she wasn't going to let her day with precious kohai be darkened by such thoughts, there was a time and place for everything.

Maybe there was some way that such a thing could become possible? Was her little kohai interested in lewd or otherwise 'risky' things? In the moment, would he shy away from a sexual liaison? Seria was interested enough to try and find out the truth. Even if she got the chance to simply and innocently snuggle up with her precious little kohai for a few hours, that would be more than enough to satisfy her, for a time.

The vehicle's passenger side door rose, commanded by the push of a button and Kamijou Touma clambered in soon enough, his own worries pushed to the side.

The vehicle's owner wanted to kiss him until he could take no more. He was so very close to her, and she was so very close to finding Heaven on Earth.

Seria's vehicle smelled wonderful, like a light layer of rose-scented perfume had been sprayed about the vehicle's interior.

To say that the vehicle was 'fancy' would be an understatement; Touma was completely shocked by what he saw.

The seats were lined with dark leather, its dashboard metallic and crafted of stainless steel. The steering wheel was bound with thick, shining dark leather like the seats. The radio's user interface was illuminated, colored a shade of green.

As the passenger side door was lowered the driver's side window fell, creating an additional entranceway for fresh air to move about the vehicle's interior.

"You're a sight for sore eyes, my little kohai. You're quite the delinquent, aren't you? Skipping your classes… for shame, for shame. Truly you're a little rebel."

"I'm just a victim of peer pressure, senpai," Touma remarked.

Seria had dressed to impress, and impressed her kohai she did. Adorned in a long-sleeved denim jacket with a white, tight-fitting top beneath it which accented her ample boson, her upper thighs were adorned in denim shorts which exposed most of her long, slender and unarguably flawless legs. Touma's eyes fell lower, and though Seria noticed she hardly minded.

In fact, her hand fell to her kohai's shoulder and massaged it as she leaned in, pressing her lips to Touma's ear.

"You can do so much more than look, my precious little kohai. It's so wonderful to be at your side again."

Clad in dark leather gladiator sandals, Seria's feet, parts of her body just as valuable to Kamijou Touma as her exceedingly ample bosom were just as perfect as her legs.

Seria placed an affectionate kiss to her kohai's cheek, snapping him out of his ogling.

"Just on the cheek? That's all I get? Hmm. I don't know if that's going to be acceptable."

She giggled as she nibbled on her kohai's earlobe, gently rubbing it between her teeth.

"Ask and you shall receive."

Two sets of lips connected. Kamijou Touma's hands fell to his senpai's legs, gently and affectionately stroking them. Seria didn't attempt to stop him.

"My kohai," Seria mumbled between the exchange of kisses, "this is all I ever wanted from you. Do you recall the time before your apparent loss of memory, which you claim you have since regained, when we previously came so close to this moment?"

Even if her words were only semi-coherent, Kamijou Touma understood the inquiry well enough. Of course he remembered.

"Loss of memory?" Yeah, that's one way of puttin' it. I wish I'd gone through with it and I wish I didn't keep you waiting on the edge like I did."

Seria smacked her lips against his own, suddenly and feverishly grabbing onto her kohai's crotch.

"Of course I forgive you, even if there's hardly any wronging to be forgiven."

"I think there is. I'm sorry for pretending to be a dense idiot when I should've just been truthful with you. It doesn't make it right but I did have my reasons."

Seria took the liberty of reluctantly pulling away. Kamijou Touma leaned back casually in the passenger seat as his driver shifted the vehicle into drive and then pressed her perfect foot down upon the vehicle's gas pedal.

Zeeee, nunununuuu.

The hair atop his head fixed itself, becoming tidy and flattened again, like a comb had been run through and over it. Seria witnessed its movements, and was just as impressed as she was intrigued. Just what was her 'new old' kohai capable of?

"You had your reasons for doing so I'm sure and whatever they might be they're completely valid. I wouldn't hold such a trivial matter against you. Now, what shall we get to doing together, my little delinquent? There's no need to rush to answer of course. Think on it if you must, I'll be enjoying the time I have to spend with you whether we spend it in silence or not."

Seria rewarded her kohai with a smile; even if it wasn't aimed in his direction, Touma appreciated it nonetheless.

"There's no wrong answer. Just speak your mind and I'm sure we'll find something we can agree on."

Kamijou Touma did indeed have a few ideas; but as Seria had suggested, he'd prefer to think on them and contemplate what would suit both of them best.

"Oi, Seria."

"Hm?"

"Erm… you want to hit up Cinema One? Video store? Just for old time's sake."

"You still remember that evening? Oh you're simply precious. Of course, I'd love to. Should the "Cosmos Invaders" statue still stand we ought to take a picture together with it."

" _Though, if such a photograph was to be posted to EpiCenter, some individuals might become quite vexed… some individuals such as you, Shokuhou. A snobbish middle schooler brat like you wouldn't know how to take care of my little kohai, not like how I do."_

Touma looked like he'd suddenly recalled something quite important.

"It'd better still be there! The next generation of brats deserve to be spooked just like we were!"

Seria made a right turn after she'd stopped before a set of lights. Apparently, Academy City's fifteenth school district was the destination; it was almost too perfect. Being able to show her little kohai off at a high-class temple to consumerism such as the Dianoid was a desirable path to walk indeed.

Seria grinned a vaguely impish grin, and it only widened, becoming more genuine as Kamijou Touma laughed aloud, more at himself than at the situation.

"If I didn't know any better, I would've thought that you'd soiled yourself when its arms suddenly lunged at you."

"How was I supposed to have known it was an animatronic?! I only soiled myself a bit."

"I'm sure, my brave, valiant knight in shining armor, with one large unsightly brown spot."

Only one of the two young people in the vehicle knew a meeting between operatives of Necessarius was playing out.

One learned of "Kami-yan's" whereabouts through the silver-haired nun who lived with him – passive-aggressive threats worked wonders, especially when uttered before a timid individual. The monster with the fake eye tried to intervene, but quickly thought twice when faced with the barrel of a formerly concealed firearm.

This same operative would have to figure out just where Kumokawa Seria was headed off to with Kamijou Touma in tow.

The other operative would have to work on tracking the two down once a location was established.

Whether he liked it or not, Kamijou Touma was 'officially' involved with the Magic Side once more.


	12. Revelations

The attempted four-way assault played out just about as well as it had previously. There was no conceivable way that Spring-heeled Jack could beat back a surgical strike delivered unto him by three Saints.

His reign of terror, his string of petty crimes, his constant pranks would come to a screeching halt. London would be victimized by Spring-heeled Jack no longer.

From the right, Kanzaki Kaori lunged, leaping forth from the shadows at speeds that would've blinded potential onlookers. Less of a human being and more of an amorphous blur she made her move as part of the established team effort.

Brunhild Eiktobel leapt from on high; she'd chosen to strike from above, having leapt from the highest point of a nearby cathedral.

Saint Silvia, aided by Knight Leader rushed the quartet's foe head-on, weapons drawn, prepared to rend flesh and draw blood if need be.

There were no onlookers to speak of, however. A Clearing Field had been established, and the trio's foe seemed to be willing to play within that field.

At least this foe fought with a sense of honor. He or she or it obviously didn't wish to involve outsiders in their conflict.

Knight Leader attempted once again to cast Thororm's Defense Formula, though no amount of commanding his foe's clawed gloves, apparently his or her or its only weaponry to "Turn to Zero" seemed to play out in the way it was intended to. Such was the nature of Hrunting being deprived of Telesma.

From all sides the Saints, the Saint-Valkyrie and the Leader of the Knights of England surged down upon their foe. Four overwhelmingly, immensely powerful individuals clashed against one.

Or, that was what was supposed to have happened.

Instead, their weapons had crashed against one another, while their foe had seemingly disappeared; of course, the Saints and the Saint-Valkyrie knew better.

He or she or it, whatever it was, it hadn't vanished. It'd leapt like a jumping spider mere moments before Kaori's nodachi Shichien Shichiou, Brunhild's broadsword, Silvia's bare fists and Knight Leader's Hrunting had clashed against one another.

Spring-heeled indeed.

Some few feet away from the quartet it stood, tall and confident. Clad in a bright yellow raincoat, its hood pulled up, a mask with a faux-facial expression of surprise adorned the face of the quartet's foe.

Kaori took a step forward, rubble crunching beneath the soles of her boots. With the Saint, Silvia, the Saint-Valkyrie Brunhild and the Leader of England's Knights at her side, their differences temporarily set aside for the common good (and for convenience), the Saint of the Far East gritted her teeth.

"What are you?"

"I'm me, lass."

"Enough with the pseudo-mysterious nonsense!" Silvia boomed. "Surrender, or I'll beat the last drop of your willpower from the marrow of your bones!"

Spring-heeled Jack fired back. "Ye 'aven't been doing a right proper job with that yet, lass."

Brunhild had enough. She rushed her Spring-heeled foe, moving nearly at the speed of sound.

Yet, despite this, he or she or it, whatever it truly was, it danced to the side before the Saint-Valkyrie's feet had even left the ground.

With her pre-collected momentum, the Saint-Valkyrie's feet crashed against a nearby structure, a high-rise apartment complex, one which had been vacated due to the Clear Field's placement, and forcibly rocketed herself back in her Spring-heeled enemy's direction, causing every individual glass item within the complex, its windows included to spontaneously shatter.

Kaori, Silvia and the Leader of England's Knights took advantage of Brunhild's assault and rushed back into the fray.

There were no tactics, no planning and no observations of strategies. It was an all-out brawl, a proverbial screaming contest. The Spring-Heeled foe forced Shichien Shichiou to glance against his right glove's claws, beat back Silvia with a swift kick to her gut, one which sent the mighty Saint tumbling like a football kicked about by a child, and sidestepped Brunhild's latest attempt at overtaking him with brute force.

Kaori, however, had been provided with the chance to look into her Spring-heeled foe's eyes during the extremely short period of time in which Spring-heeled anomalous existence and Saint had been quite close to one another in proximity.

It was heterochromatic, its left eye's iris blue, its right eye's iris a bright shade of yellow.

Silvia had quickly recovered from the blow received, and she was clearly even more furious than she'd been previously. The Saint saw red, and joined Brunhild in her newest assault. Spring-Heeled Jack deflected Hrunting's incoming arc by crashing either of his hands, curled into fists against the Knight Leader's wrist, causing his hand to crumple.

With a flick of his index finger and thumb, Spring-heeled Jack knocked the Leader of England's Knights away like he was little more than an empty tin can.

Without a magical chant, seemingly without the aid of runic carvings and without even a singular Magic Circle in sight he huffed, swiftly taking a deep breath, and vomited forth a plume of translucent blue flame, one whose crackling form consumed Knight Leader.

Knight Leader had been stunned, and stumbled like an old drunkard though he appeared otherwise unharmed. The quartet's Spring-heeled foe bopped Brunhild on the head, sidestepped Saint Silvia's berserking flurry of fists mere seconds before she began to throw her fists at the air where her foe had only just stood, and vomited forth another plume of flame in the direction of Kanzaki Kaori, who managed to avoid the plume entirely by taking notes from Jack's own pages; she rolled, coming to rest some ten meters away.

Brute force obviously wasn't going to cut it.

Covered in dust, pelted by debris the soles of her boots disturbed and forced from the ground, the Saint of the Far East panted, slightly. She hadn't faced such heavy resistance since her conflict with Acqua of the Back, as William Orwell had been known at that point in time, a time which felt like it had been so long ago.

With a swift punch to the gut, followed by an uppercut and a subsequent forceful kick to the face, one which shattered bones and rattled his skull inside of his head, Knight Leader was down for the count, coming to rest in the middle of the heavily-damaged (and thankfully vacant) London roadway. Hrunting laid abandoned some distance from its wielder's damaged body.

"I'll ask you once more… what _are_ you?"

"Lass, I don't rightly know what sort'a answer ye be expectin' from me. I'm me, an' yer you. I'm 'ere 'cause I 'ave ta be, 'cause the blokes yer workin' for just 'an't quite do th' right thing. I'm sure yer used to 'necessary evils', though, aren't ye? I know lass. I know th' feelin'."

Kaori wanted to get a closer look at that right eye. While the whites of all humans possessed visually identifiable veins to an extent, her Spring-heeled foe's right eye had looked far more bloodshot than what would've normally been expected.

It almost looked like it'd bulged from its socket, larger than the eye of a normal human, though there was no evidence that this was a case. Such could've easily been the result of a visual hallucination.

Silvia evidently maintained that brute force was the superior method for dealing with the issue at hand.

In response to Silvia's aggression, Spring-heeled Jack simply leapt over her and proceeded to deliver a swift series of brutal kicks to her back, far too swift to have been delivered by the body of a normal human being; their foe himself was nearly as light-footed as a Saint, and likely just as deadly if left unchecked.

With one last strike greater than the others, Saint Silvia was sent careening into the nearby cathedral, crashing through its walls and bringing the structure crumbling down to its foundations, so terrible was her impact with the structure.

There was a chance that she would emerge in a timely fashion, but Kaori didn't count on it, nor did Brunhild, who paid her closer ally a moment of concern before she returned her attention to the Spring-heeled adversary before herself, and before the Saint of the Far East.

Brunhild took to Kaori's side, balancing herself in place, the hilt of her broadsword gripped tightly in either of her hands.

"I have an idea, Saint of the Far East. Silvia's brutishness may have cost us both her own aid and that of the Knight Leader for the time being, but it has also showed me the truth of this matter; our adversary will not fall merely through the slashes of blades and battle cries. Speaking of such things, distract it. Throw yourself at it or use your womanly charms to seduce it."

"W-womanly… charms?"

"Now is hardly the time in which becoming flustered is the appropriate response. Do it, Saint of the Far East."

Their Spring-heeled adversary kicked at the rubble beneath him, softly humming a tune to himself, sounding vaguely like the nursery rhyme known to those in the English-speaking world as "Ba, Ba Black Sheep". Apparently, he noticed that he was being eyed intently by both Kanzaki Kaori and Brunhild Eiktobel.

"What? What's wit' th' looks, lassies? Yer thinkin' that I'm finna bloody well hit ye when yer talkin'? What sorta beastie do ye take me for? T'would be jus' a bloody cowardly move, that. Oh, n… lass? Ye might want ta pull yer denims up. Somethin's… loose. Wasn't pervin' on ye, ma'am, I promise. Jus' noticed 'er now in fact."

Kaori looked downwards, towards the one-legged blue jeans which adorned her lower form. There was indeed a white band of sorts visible where her legwear had sagged.

The Saint's cheeks became bright red, blood rushing into her face as she struggled to pull her legwear up, tightening her belt as she ceased to make eye contact with she and Brunhild's Spring-heeled adversary.

"T-thank you, but I believe you've caused enough destruction in this place as it is. Give yourself up, and I promise by my very Sainthood that no harm will come to you."

"Except that's not something ye can promise, Sainthood or not. Ye lack true control over the situation at hand, as you who've served beneath the oppressive heel of tyranny always have and always will, unless we bring about changes in the way the magical world is run. That's just it, lass.

"I can't blame ye for the position ye find yerself in. T'is just the result of many centuries of oppression after all, not something easily countered er toppled. I used ta be bossed 'round by an oppressive boss once, lass. There's an alternative to tyranny and there's an alternative to servitude."

The Saint of the Far East sheathed her blade; at speeds far beyond human, she rested the sheathed weapon against the earth beneath her.

"Seven flashes."

The wire technique succeeded in its mechanical setup, each sharp and barbed strand slashing or otherwise shearing away shreds of her foe's raincoat and cutting her adversary's flesh, though Spring-heeled Jack didn't seem to be in any sort of overwhelming pain. Jack even managed to identify the placements of a single wire, tugged on it, and began running its bladed fingertip over the barbed strand.

Rather than blood, blue flame leaked from Jack's wounds, spilling out like toxic chemicals pouring out from a collapsed oil tanker in a body of water.

Kanzaki Kaori hadn't been the only one to be taken aback by the Spring-heeled speaker's sudden change in demeanor. The Saint-Valkyrie, Brunhild, who'd been swiftly but quietly approaching the Spring-heeled speaker from behind had stopped mid-stride. Despite her momentary hesitation, she soon began to push onwards once more.

Kaori took another few steps forward, never lowering her guard or her Shichien Shichiou. Jack stood with his arms at his sides, his bladed gloves hanging limply. Indeed, the existence's right eye was considerably larger than its left. With a bright yellow iris filled to the brim with crimson veins, it bulged and pulsated, like it was experiencing trouble with remaining inside of its socket.

"What is this that you speak of? Tyranny? Be more specific so that you can be more easily understood. Names, places, examples. Anyone can make a bold claim, stranger."

Just as Spring-heeled Jack was about to reply, Brunhild Eiktobel struck. With a ceremonial knife carried on her armor-plated person she jabbed the weapon into Jack's flesh, piercing the raincoat. The Saint-Valkyrie quickly carved an odd-looking dotted rune, a physical point of focus for one of her casts.

This particular runic brand triggered the casting of a Body Hijacking spell. Based not on a Norse fable but rather crafted from a personal desire, the Spring-Heeled adversary of the Saint and the Saint-Valkyrie lost control of its body's nervous functions while the reigns were handed over to Brunhild. There was a thud; Spring-heeled Jack collapsed before being quickly willed to rise once more by the Saint-Valkyrie who was apparently rather curious as to just what the being was.

"Demon! Foul, stinking… stupid… ugly-lookin' demon!" Saint Silvia proclaimed, righteous fury in her tone of voice. She'd returned from her strange journey into the nearby cathedral, evidently.

As Saints, imbued with a fraction of the Son of God's overwhelming holy power, both Kanzaki Kaori and the half-Saint half-Valkyrie existence Brunhild Eiktobel had been able to understand this reality as well.

But it wasn't quite that simple. There was no particularly 'fell' presence about this queer existence that stood before them. It was a demon of some type or category, yes, but the overwhelmingly negative nature of corrupted Daemoniac mana was not present.

"Kill it! Send it back, screaming to the abyss that spawned it!"

Saint Silvia was obviously set in her ways, but Kanzaki Kaori would investigate further. She had to. Such an anomaly had never before been witnessed, not by the Saint of the Far East. Brunhild Eiktobel had reluctantly taken to aiding the conscious Knight Leader, who too was taken aback by the queer being before him.

"I'll ask only once more. What are you?"

"Ye got potatoes in yer ear, lass? I'm Spring-Heeled Jack. I don't rightly know what yer expectin' from me."

Silvia had originally planned to deliver upon the foul demon quite the earful; but as she'd grown nearer, her state of being as a Saint seemed to resonate with the queer existence which was becoming less foul.

There was nothing 'evil' about it; the fell Demoniac mana that coursed through the forms of demons and all manner of horrid things torn from the Dark Beyond by selfish or vengeful casters was not present. It did not clash with the Saints' collective existences, nor was the Saint-Valkyrie affected, negatively or positively.

Moreover, the queer existence didn't seem bent on attacking the quartet who'd once more been reduced to a trio, as Knight Leader had once more lost consciousness, a mere shade of his former self whose weapon, Hrunting, was no longer empowered by the original Curtana's Telesma.

Brunhild took the proverbial stage and posed an inquiry.

"Why do you continually torment these lands, Spring-Heeled one? You've no place here."

He shook his head, seemingly confounded.

"Don't worry yerself too much about it, lass. Yer a right proper one, fightin' wit honor and wit conviction, truth is, lass, ye deserve more than an existence as slaves to a sinister and controllin' agender, jus' like all intelligent creatures. Tha's th' motto o' th' Sons o' Taured. Agreeable enough? Good-bye for now, lasses - 'n lad! Good-bye and good day."

Soon, Spring-heeled Jack performed a truly queer feat; without wings or any alternative mode of aerial locomotion he floated like a stunt actor suspended by secured bindings on a film set, before he fell, then rose from the cityscape, fell and rose, like a vehicle passing over so many steep hills.

He'd be back and his adversaries knew it. His leave was a temporary reprieve.

Such interesting, if concerning information would quickly need to be forwarded to the Backstabbing Blade, and to Karasuma Fran in Academy City. There'd been something of a gamechanger that'd taken place, after all. It was hardly a casual occasion.

One question among others remained, shared mutually by the Saints, the Saint-Valkyrie and even by the unconscious Leader of the Knights of England; what was the purpose behind that being's constant visitations?

"Another day, another blown-up street, another scenario that's going to need a cover story," Silvia complained. Tossing the unconscious Knight Leader over her shoulder, she huffed, unimpressed.

"Why'd this lug have to insist on accompanying us? Bloody right useless, sorry lot this one is."

Kaori placed her sheathed Shichien Shichiou within a hooked, leather-bound loop protruding from one of her many belts. The Saint of the Far East just couldn't seem to force her eyes' vision away from the horizon. It seemed that clouds were rolling in, though they didn't quite look threatening. White and fluffy, they were the sort the Saint welcomed.

"Given the circumstances, he put forth his best effort."

"Bah," Silvia spat, wincing as she began to take her leave from the party of convenience, "You've softened up. I don't recall ordering a serving of soft-boiled Kanzaki."

"You seem to be conveniently forgetting that you took a fair beating as well."

Saint-Valkyrie Brunhild Eiktobel had dropped a reality check on Saint Silvia, one which Silvia didn't appreciate all that much. The Saint of the Far East was a little more than simply "surprised" that the Saint-Valkyrie had seemingly come to her defense.

Kanzaki Kaori turned her thoughts back to Spring-heeled Jack. What was its game? What was it trying to accomplish through repeatedly engaging Necessarius' forces and those who associated with Necessarius as a matter of convenience? Were they being gauged, their combat abilities tested? What on Earth were the Sons of Taured?

Perhaps it was a distraction, but from what? There were too many unanswered questions for Kaori's likings.

* * *

Everything was going almost too well.

As the stoplights transitioned, they alerted Seria to the fact that she could press down upon the vehicle's 'locomotion pedal'. Kamijou Touma watched those beyond the vehicle's interior pass him by, colored blurs more than human beings, at least at the speed the vehicle was travelling.

The roadways were almost entirely vacant at the hour in which Seria and Touma had decided to begin their exodus. Aside from the occasional commuter driving to, or perhaps from their place of work there was little to see in terms of traffic.

The wind rustled Seria's dark, feathery hair; she'd pulled down a pair of aviator-style sunglasses from the crown of her head, setting them over her eyes. She looked like a supermodel more than she did a high school student. Upon her nearest bare leg Touma's hand was placed; either she hadn't noticed or, alternatively, she simply didn't care.

Passing over a great bridge overlooking a section of Academy City's seventh school district, Touma recognized the adjacent section of the district as belonging to Tokiwadai Middle School. Even from on high, the middle school stood out like the brightest of stars, or like the sorest of thumbs. Its impressive promenade looked even more luxurious from afar. It practically sparkled beneath the sun's rays. Most of the morning's clouds had been beaten back, though some remained to bring anxiety to picnickers, hikers and dogwalkers alike.

Kamijou Touma didn't want to think about dogs, not after everything that'd spiralled out of control due to the death of one.

"Senpa… erm, Seria. Sorry, creature of… heh. Creature of habit. Here, let's try that again yeah? Hey Seria."

"I'm listening loud and clear, my kohai," Seria responded. Delicately she turned the steering wheel of her vehicle, applying the breaks as needed and occasionally pushing back down upon the 'locomotion pedal'.

She was the picture of elegance and refined, tempered class.

"Oh, I ought to mention it before you go and think I haven't noticed… I see that you seem to be quite… intrigued, shall we say, by my legs. Feel free to do whatever you'd like with them."

"I don't mean to impose," Seria's kohai began to explain, "but I do have this… thing. Call it what you want, a fetish, a kink, it's all the same thing I guess. It's still with me, but that's not really a bad thing, I don't think so at least. There're worse things to be turned on by, huh?"

He always was such a little gentleman, trying to explain everything with such casual terms to the best of his ability. Seria's cheeks lit up, becoming bright red as she struggled to keep her mind focused on the roadway in front of her. Blood was rushing to her face, and if she didn't know any better she might've thought that a nosebleed wasn't far away.

"Your interest is innocent. Touch as you please, though you're welcome to do much more than that. These windows? None outside can see what's happening on the inside. If I roll them up, you can do anything you'd like to me. _Anything._ Only if you're comfortable; I certainly don't wish to impose either."

Passing beneath the archway which separated school districts seven and fifteen, the scenery changed before Touma and his senpai. There was a considerable architectural change; school district fifteen was much more urban than the residential and 'homey' school district seven.

"I'm not seeing anyone else but I'm definitely, sort of, kinda, having explicit relationships with someone, sort of a 'friends with benefits' kind of thing, nothing involving any relationship that's set in stone. She's clean, a… well, she _was_ a virgin, heh. I know for certain that infections can't latch onto me, in the way that I exist now anyways, not that I'd have any. Phase-matter resin kills microorganisms instantaneously. Just thought you should know that."

From Touma's form, ribbons of nanorobotic machine-phase matter danced, as if he was attempting to prove that he was telling the truth.

Touma's confession had spilled out like a glass of milk knocked from the surface of a table. It didn't sound like it'd been planned; it seemed to be more of a spontaneous, spur of the moment admission.

While Seria was certainly disappointed to hear such news, she had to look at the situation logically and not react in a volatile or childish manner, not that such a desire existed within her. That's exactly what separated Kumokawa Seria from the other brats who associated with her kohai, and she knew it. Her maturity and logical outlook set her above all others, it was an advantage that would need to be maintained.

If sexual conduct with her kohai would be completely safe, if he was telling her the truth (and Seria had little reason to believe that he'd lie, especially given that he confessed the truth regarding his 'sexcapades' in the first place), then that was all she could ask of him. Attempting to control her kohai in a way that the likes of Mental Out likely would've if she'd found herself in Seria's position would do no good. He had the right to do as he pleased, so long as all parties involved consented. It was hardly a surprise that she'd lost 'the race', but there was still victory to be found.

It was hardly a surprise that she'd lost 'the race', but there was still victory to be found.

Even so, such was the price to pay when confidence and bravado stepped into the picture.

"I very much appreciate your honesty, my kohai. This hardly surprises me; you're quite the dreamboat. As long as you're mine when you're with me, I don't foresee any issues arising from your maverick ways. I know how to compromise. You know, Tsuchimikado often teased you in the past about how you have a 'harem' but…"

Kamijou Touma couldn't help but quietly chuckle to himself; a certain former Magic God was going to be disappointed.

"Senp… I mean Seria? Can you not talk about him? I don't mean to be pushy, I don't want you to feel like you've got to walk on eggshells, because you don't, there's… huh. There's some real fucked up business between us right now."

"And what sort of business would that be, if you don't mind my asking? Could it have something to do with… the "Other Side?"

If Kamijou Touma still possessed the ability to create saliva within his mouth, he would've spat a great wad of the stuff forth, and likely would've felt quite bad when it'd inevitably met face-to-face with some part of his senpai's dashboard.

"You know about…?"

"How long did you think I'd remain in the dark, my little Touma-kun? How long did you think the truth could be hidden from those who find themselves in positions of power? Quite the interesting story behind my learning of this largely unknown part of our world."

That made enough sense to him. Kihara Gensei had informed Kamijou Touma about Tsuchimikado Motoharu's encounter with Kumokawa Seria, during the period in which "Agitate Halation" was a relevant subject of discussion around bigwig board meeting tables across Academy City. There was a link and Touma knew it.

Touma cursed under his breath. "Tsuchimikado did something to you. The old man told me. I don't know how he knows, but he must've been watching from the shadows, typical… fucking… no-good hunchback coward."

"A 'curse' was laid upon me as I've been told, one which resulted in the loss of one of my eyes. To think there are people who believe such things to be the work of the mentally ill, the superstitious and writers of fiction. Quite a shame that I can no longer count myself among them. Magic business is very complicated as it turns out. I've poked my nose where it didn't belong on more than one occasion. That's our little secret, my kohai. Can you keep it?"

"Yeah, of course. Lips are sealed. That bastard's just giving me more reasons to skin his worthless hide with every fuckin' day that passes... both of them, the old man and the goddamn spy."

Finding themselves stopped before another set of lights, Kumokawa Seria leaned towards her kohai and planted a kiss on his cheek.

"I'm dealing with Tsuchimikado personally. Don't you concern yourself with him. I have reason to believe that he already has come to regret his decision to lay a magical curse on me, but regret isn't quite enough. I'd like to see tears and to hear begging."

"That makes two of us," Touma remarked, more to himself than to Seria. "How much do you, erm… know? That sounded vaguely threatening, didn't it? I'm genuinely curious. You're part of a select handful of people in Academy City who know about "it" now. My condolences."

Seria smirked, as the vehicle began to move once more. With the Dianoid in sight, their conversation would be ended abruptly. Regardless, Seria owed Touma the same sort of honesty he'd offered her in his sexcapades confession.

"The basics, for now," Seria explained. "Ancient magicians created magic due to the resentment they held against ancient espers. It exists to fulfil the caster's desires and can be wielded in a near-infinite number of ways, with principal mechanics including magic based on folk tales, characters and settings from religious texts and even Urban Legends. There are branches of certain churches hidden from the public eye dedicated to the regulation of magic; that last bit I had to beat out of our… "friend" Tsuchimikado."

Touma didn't voice a reply for a few moments. Kumokawa Seria was in on "the global conspiracy"? Could it really be called that? A conspiracy it was, in a sense, and magic cabals could indeed be found across the globe.

A 'global conspiracy' it was, then. Joyous.

"I do hope that this doesn't change anything between us. Personally, I feel as if there'd hardly been anything that'd remained between us at all, for the longest time. With the apparent and now confirmed loss of your memory you hardly seemed to know me at all.

"You evidently remember how close we once were and I hope that we can reignite the flames of such closeness. Your being may be different but I truly do believe that you are you through and through, even if you've been augmented with some… 'improvements'. That's not to say I didn't appreciate the person you were before the abhorrent circumstances that befell you."

As the vehicle entered the Dianoid's immense and largely vacant parking area, having passed through the last few series of stoplights, Touma chose to respond.

"I want to become close with you too. I remember all the good times we had when we were younger, when I was still in middle school, even. That was a long time ago, it almost feels longer than it actually is. I don't want to feel like you're just some stranger to me anymore either."

"Do you recall your hypnosis attempt upon... hm. Upon Shokuhou Misaki?"

"I do. Dick... but, Seria, look. I don't know if associating romantically, you know, going 'farther' is fair to you. I'm not going to lie to your face, I have feelings for other people, girls, too. I've… I've kind of come to realize that I can let myself have the chance to love, you know? I don't have to protect everyone around me, because you… you can protect yourselves.

"I want everyone I've tried to push away to be close to me, I just want to show the people I've come to love and respect just how much I love and respect them but that's easier said than done when there're feelings involved… you're not just defenseless objects to be guarded. My eyes are open now. It would be idiotic and selfish of me to have "a girlfriend". It would hurt too many people and it would hurt me, because I know the people I love would be hurting. Am I making sense?"

Kumokawa Seria's vehicle had come to a stop in parking spot surprisingly close to the towering Dianoid. Seventy stories high, the hexagonal prism almost resembled something out of a high fantasy film, a great tower forged by the limitless arcane power of some infinitely intelligent race. Its otherwise pale surfaces were alight with many colors, most of which changed at predestined intervals. From the hexagonal structure's faces, many thick wires extended outwards.

For a while Kumokawa Seria had remained silent; she'd offered her kohai a genuine smile, as if to reassure him that she hadn't been offended; it was true that she hadn't.

If anything, his most recent confession not only served to prove that he trusted her deeply, a fact that made Seria's heart skip a beat, but it also served to prove that Kamijou Touma's selflessness had survived whatever abominable acts he'd been forced to suffer through.

Finally, only after placing a soft kiss to Touma's cheek, Seria spoke her piece.

"You're comfortable enough with me to voice the fact that you're self-aware, my kohai… I'm overwhelmingly honored.

"You realize that the love you can offer is a force greater than any monogamous relationship could possibly attempt to limit. Rather than adhering to the concept of normality you've come to realize that by wielding this immense love of yours, you can bring smiles to the faces of those around you…

"But it might not be that easy. Not everyone is as open-minded as you are, not everyone has been enlightened in the way that you've been enlightened. It's simply a shame that such enlightenment was achieved through what I'm sure were ghastly circumstances."

The driver and passenger side windows began to roll upwards. Kumokawa Seria reached for the dial on the vehicle's radio and turned the dial clockwise, causing the hip-hop music blaring over the vehicle's speakers to further increase in volume, sending vibrations throughout the vehicle, and through those that were inside of the vehicle.

If Kamijou Touma had a human skeletal structure inside of him, his bones would've been rattling.

Unbuckling her seatbelt, Seria quickly clambered atop her kohai, wrapping her arms around his shoulders and resting the tip of her nose against Touma's own.

Concern spiked throughout his form as he saw the beginnings of tears forming in the corners of his senpai's eyes. It was unfamiliar and exotic, it was like nothing Touma had quite seen before, at least from Kumokawa Seria.

"You've suffered the weight of the world bearing down on your shoulders for some time, not because you had to but because you chose to. Even now you choose to bear the consequences of your open-mindedness. There are those who will reject the idea of anything but "one love" and some might turn their backs to you."

"I hope not."

"Some might. Do NOT for even a second count me among them. We've been forced apart from one another by circumstances for too long, my little kohai. If you'd accept me as someone who can take care of you and show you the tender love you deserve, then I… if you'd share your love with me, I'll throw the flawed concept of 'normality' to the wind so that we might become close, even closer than we were before your memory loss. I've come too close to losing you too many times, far too many 'close calls'... I won't risk it again. If you'll let me in, my kohai, I'd love to love you, even if such a love would not be the status quo's "normal" one love."

Was that a proposal? Of course it was. Kamijou Touma knew it to be a proposal. Seria had cast aside her great pride for the chance to become romantically involved with him. What was stranger, she seemed to know him even better than he knew himself. Kumokawa Seria, the young woman known as "Beauty-Senpai" and with good reason was willing to compromise with him.

But was compromise the right term? Touma didn't know whether that was the right word to describe it or not. His omniscient data-gathering protocols were being proved less than omniscient, even as they struggled to find some cold, calculated reasoning behind Seria's words.

Then it came to him.

Kamijou Touma had found himself in a similar situation before; it wasn't a compromise, it was an Understanding, a willingness to allow both parties to find their own happiness while establishing something innately beautiful. It wasn't what most would call 'normal' but what, exactly was 'normal'? It was a loose and extremely vague definition at best.

The being that had once been a 'normal high school boy' with an 'unusual right hand' and the concept of 'normality' didn't go together very well. They never had and they likely never would. Then again, that person was dead and gone. They were irrelevant.

It was a realization that dawned upon him, as Kumokawa Seria continued to look down at him, clearly aware that he was thinking. She hadn't broken down into tears, she'd fought them back in fact, but her cheeks glowed red, like the coloration of a beet's shell.

"Let's get close again. I'll start, feel free to hit the panic button if I get too weird."

"Hush up, my little maverick, and kiss me. I won't be hitting any buttons other than yours."

And that's exactly what Kamijou Touma did. His cold, coppery-tasting lips were pressed against Seria's own, either of his hands working their way down towards his senpai's legs.

Seria's only adjustment to the situation was taking his left and placing it upon her breast, forcing its cold digits to squeeze gently upon the mass of flesh. Seria felt a bulge push against her thigh as Touma's synthetic manhood was filled with machine-phase matter.

"I made a new one," Touma admitted rather awkwardly, when his senpai began to massage the bulge with either of her hands. "It's… erm, fresh. Never touched before, not even by me. I can do the same thing to my lips if you want. Probably should've let you in on that a little bit earlier, sorry."

"No need to apologize. Whatever girl you're having regular liaisons with has a lovely taste in breath-freshener. Strawberry happens to be one of my favorite flavors, believe it or not."

Seria grinned down at her kohai. Her fingers began to work his jeans of machine-phase matter, quickly being assisted by the pants which undid their own zipper and pulled themselves down.

"My, you really _are_ happy to see me, my… big… kohai. Nine whole inches, and all for me too. Aren't I just spoiled? Tell me, are you capable of adjusting its size freely?"

A part of Kamijou Touma believed everything that was unfolding before him was part of the narrative of some frustration-fuelled dream. Maybe he'd suddenly jolt up in his bed with a warm, useless body of flesh and a broken right hand. It was less than wishful thinking; returning to that feeble existence wasn't something Touma sought.

"Yeah," he finally answered, snapping out of his data-infused daze. "If you're comfortable with jumping into this sort of thing then so am I. How'd our… err… your ancestors… I can't really consider myself human, can I? What I was trying to get at is that cavemen fucked a lot to communicate. Nothing new here."

"I'm quite comfortable, given that this is something I've wanted to do with you for a very long time."

Seria giggled, more to herself than to Touma as she forced her bosom into his face. Reaching downwards, Touma's senpai excitedly gripped the surprisingly natural-looking utensil with her right hand and began to work it up and down. Using the fingers of her left Seria ran her fingers through Touma's soft, cool hair.

"You remarked during our last meeting, something cryptic about not quite knowing whether you're still capable of reaching climax and achieving a subsequent ejaculation or not. Would that still be an issue?"

Touma wordlessly nodded; with his face occupying the space between his senpai's breasts, Touma's hands had found their way to her legs, a reality Seria didn't mind. His fascination with them was even more of a turn on, and the way he touched them suggested that fetish play was far from something new to her kohai.

Experience was quite the boon for a sexually need Kumokawa Seria.

For Touma, admitting to his present inability to ejaculate was more than just a bit of an embarrassing situation to be in, even if it was one beyond his control.

As if she'd read his mind, Seria comfortingly stroked her kohai's head.

"It's nothing to be ashamed of. I can only imagine how disorienting it must be to find yourself trapped in an unfamiliar form, my little kohai. There's no need to push yourself, I enjoy just having it in my hand. Relax and let your senpai take care of you."

To say that Kamijou Touma felt like a champion would be a massive understatement.

There he was, engaging in truly depraved sexual acts with the most gorgeous woman in his entire high school in that woman's own incredibly advanced and luxurious vehicle. Perhaps Seria and Othinus would even come to like one another? Touma could only hope. One way or another, he'd find a way to show all of the members of the opposite gender he'd found himself falling for just how much he loved, appreciated and needed them in his life.

It was in that moment as well that the words once spoken by Aogami Pierce, of all the people, rung out in his higher mind, a voice clip that'd been recorded and stored as manipulatable data within Kamijou Touma's converted higher mind.

" _Kami-yan! Stop showing off your harem!"_

It'd been true for a while, hadn't it? Kamijou Touma had many female admirers, and, secretly, more to himself than to anyone else, he admired them right back.

But as he'd always done he pushed them away and tried to guard them like they were precious little china dolls. At least he'd come to realize the error of his ways; late was better than never.

He did have a harem. He, Kamijou Touma, he had a harem.

One way or another, he'd find a way to make them happy and to allow himself to be happy, and to love them. He'd get to know them better, he'd show each of them just how much he appreciated them, he'd show them equal amounts of the limitless love he felt for them and ensure that they felt appreciated and wanted.

"You've grown quiet. Enjoying yourself, I take it?" Seria inquired, following her words with a short giggle.

Muffled, Touma's response struggled to emerge from between his senpai's breasts, but the words managed to worm their way out.

"More than ever before. I love you Seria."

She stopped, allowing Touma to free himself from her bosom's grasp, though he hadn't particularly minded his time spent there. Seria's eyelids had widened.

As if she was a computer experiencing a hardware crash, she completely seized up. Leaning back, Kumokawa Seria looked into her kohai's eyes for a moment. Resting either of her hands upon his cheeks, Seria's cheeks reached the pinnacle of their redness.

"Since we crossed paths the other day, since I first regained all of my lost memories after they, erm, 'changed' me, I know more than ever that I'm in love with you! It might sound weird, immoral even, but I'm in love with a lot of the women in my life. I love you all equally, I completely adore every single one of you, you're all so equally important to me. I want to show you how much I love you. I can't make everyone love everyone else, I wouldn't try to, I don't want to be some… fucked up cult leader, but I CAN let you in and show you the affection you deserve!"

"T-Touma?"

"You could've easily turned your back on me but you didn't. You kept on trying to associate with me even if I barely knew who you were or what you were to me. It must've been so painful for you to interact with me only to have me try to push you away. I can't even imagine what that would be like. I'm so sorry that things had to play out like that but that's over now. I know who you are and what you are to me."

Kumokawa Seria just barely managed to keep her emotions in check, even as they were overflowing from within her, as if she was a fountain and her feelings were an unending supply of water.

"I love you too Touma-kun. I love you so very much. In reality, there was hardly any other way that you could romantically operate, not without causing irreparable damage to the bonds you have with the females more actively involved than I in the incredible life you lead.

"Don't think that I haven't been watching over you, my little kohai. I'm a person of great importance to this City, and as such I have figurative and literal eyes all about. I've attempted to aid you on your 'suicide quests' during more than one occasion, though for reasons beyond my control I've always found myself at a disadvantage, unable to offer you my aid. It was truly loathsome… what at first seemed equally loathsome were the many 'other girls' who surrounded you.

"I can admit to my own flaws, unlike others in this City who surely wouldn't be able to do so. I was envious, not only because it wasn't I aiding you in the fights you lead, but that others held your attention while I remained on the sidelines, barely-remembered when we were once so close to one another, often unable to even aid you from afar."

"Can't really call that a flaw. It's human nature. No more farness, Seria. We're going to get close again, if you want to do that."

"I do!... the anomalous female attraction you possess is… less of a problem to me in the present. I've come to accept it as a fact. To attempt to program you and bend you to my own whims would be horribly cruel, and I want nothing but good for my little kohai. Now I want nothing more than to never grow apart from you again, Touma-kun… during your month-long absence, I found myself barely able to operate at all on a day-to-day basis. I never want to experience such a thing again, and I'd much prefer it if you didn't wind up in a position in which your safety would again be compromised. Should you find yourself in such a position, you won't be alone, not now."

"Is this a car, or a confession booth?" Touma rhetorically inquired, teasingly. Kumokawa Seria gently slapped her kohai, with nowhere near enough force to cause him any sort of harm (though such a thing was no longer possible unless he internally authorized it, Seria wasn't aware of such mechanics).

While Seria began to readjust her kohai's legwear, only to have said legwear not only adjust but pull itself upwards, as well, Touma asked another question, not one of rhetoric like the previous.

"Just curious here, what position do you hold? Are you involved with a bigwig corporation, maybe one of those facilities that fuck around with the level fives?"

"Not quite. I act as an assistant to one of the Directors."

It was Touma's turn for his own eyelids to widen.

"That… must be hard. Heard from some sources that those people are pretty fuckin' incompetent, about as competent as a toddler elected to be Prime Minister of Japan."

"Your sources, whoever they are, they aren't wrong," Seria remarked.

Taking a deep breath, she placed one final kiss to the lips of her kohai and then shifted herself back into the driver's side seat. Though Touma's hands found their way to her legs, Seria couldn't have minded any less. She placed her own hands atop his and enjoyed the sensation of having her legs massaged by his cool, gentle hands. The way he worked her muscles, the way his hands slid over her skin took Seria's breath away.

"That feels… Aaah. That feels so good. You know how to take care of a woman, that much is evident… t-the man I work for, he's arguably… the least deserving of a swift demise amongst the lot. He's truly human, rather than some cyborg powered by greed. Then again, who am I to talk? I'm involved with their schemes to a lesser extent, and the pay is undeniably higher than what most positions in the City offer."

For some time the two sat in silence. Kamijou Touma continued to massage his senpai's flawless legs while she held either of his hands. At one point Seria's smartphone rang, though she ignored the caller and allowed the call to be answered by her voicemail service.

Touma could imagine a frustrated Tsuchimikado on the other end.

His vision wasn't all that far off from the truth.

There was indeed a frustrated and rather vexed Tsuchimikado Motoharu on the other end, one who swore up and down in his dorm as a bored and equally tired Karasuma Fran sprawled herself out on his dingy old couch.

"I trust you."

"I trust you too Seria. You've never given me a reason not to trust you. You fuck with me sometimes, but that doesn't mean I can't trust you. Everyone's got to have fun once in a while, and, hey, I don't mind being the butt monkey."

It was in the moment that Seria recalled where she'd parked her vehicle, and why she and her kohai had come to the Dianoid in the first place.

Slightly embarrassed by the fact that she'd been blinded by her own emotions, she gently and rather reluctantly removed Touma's hands from her legs.

"You know, Touma-kun, unless we have more secrets to share with one another in this fateful and deeply enjoyable moment, why don't I see us out? I'm simply dying to show you off. Maybe we'll encounter some of "your girls", hm? I'd love to make a good first impression..."

Kumokawa Seria emerged from within the vehicle, its interior practically invisible from the outside; only the tiniest of the most vague, amorphous shadowy shapes were visible even to Kamijou Touma. Soon, both of the vehicle's doors were closed; with a press of a small device she produced from her pocket, the vehicle's doors were locked.

As Touma took to his senpai's side in their approaching of the Dianoid, he couldn't help but feel incredibly fortunate, ironically enough given his previous fifteen years of misfortune-riddled years on planet Earth. Kumokawa Seria walked like a goddess, her long strides confident and full of life. With her arm around her kohai's own, Seria held her head high, haughty and undaunted by the certainly stressful life she lead.

As both entered the Dianoid through one of many entranceway doors, heads turned to look at the pair, mostly at the natural beauty that was Kumokawa Seria. Young men muttered to one another in frustration and jealousy, while young women gasped and politicked.

At the former parties Kamijou Touma sneered, holding his right hand's thumb up as if to say "I win". Seria, who'd noticed her kohai's confident display of victory out of the corner of her eye couldn't help but giggle.

* * *

In a certain Welsh hamlet, a certain "demon hunter" in the employ of a certain magical cabal was having less of a good time.


	13. Demons, Magicians, and Meetings

February 9th, 2004. 9:38 PM.

The quaint welsh hamlet of Catherdine had become the temporary resting place of the Dawn-Colored Sunlight, not through any fault of the hamlet's own. It'd been a mere victim of circumstance.

For a magic cabal which found itself moving around quite often, Catherdine was one of the cabal's better haunts, at least by the members' votes.

With its many fieldscapes, most of which were surrounded by fenced boundaries, especially those closer to in proximity to the Llangorse Lake, the hamlet's sloping hills were like something out of a watercolor calendar photo. The setting was a temporary reprieve from high-rise apartment complexes and hostels.

The cabal's leader was less concerned with appearances and more concerned about usability.

A group of twenty had taken up residence within the rather confined space of the Intoxicated Ibis, one of the three taverns accepting patrons within the hamlet.

The former patrons, as well as the tavern's keepers and maids had been made cooperative (and therefore sent off to their homes, wherever those might've been) through the use ugly-looking, savage runes which'd been scrawled along the oaken walls and carved into the oaken flooring. Each glowed a shade of bright, emerald green and each pulsed with potent and fell power. The savage scrawlings stunk like the stench of burning corpses.

While eighteen of the Dawn-Colored Sunlight's suited cohorts stood around a cheap, dirtied and overall poorly put together table in the tavern's dining hall, three particularly important individuals politicked. Between them, a strange artifact sat. A jar with an hourglass shape, there were many squares and arrows which pointed towards delicately painted upon its surfaces.

The demon hunter Iosephus Thepes' dark hair was ruffled, its bangs shortened and trimmed, its fringe swept and curled upwards. Dark and vaguely shadowlike stubble adorned his cheeks, his upper lip and his chin. Seated across from the cabal's leader, he looked purposefully into her sky blue irises.

Beside Iosephus Thepes sat Nikolas Rivers, one of two loyal and high-ranking assistants of the cabal's leader. With very little hair upon his head or upon his face to speak of, the burly, aggressive-looking older man with the buzzcut massaged his chin between his index finger and thumb.

There was the chance that the almost ridiculously loyal and long-time demon hunter servant, sub-commander and confidant of Leivinia Birdway was made uncomfortable by the presence of another individual who'd make his way up through the ranks.

If that was the case, the demon hunter wasn't showing his unease. Nikolas Rivers certainly couldn't see it.

Nikolas had his theories about that, given the demon hunter's seemingly unquestioning loyal to their shared leader. Was it some sort of ill-fated infatuation? Had the demon hunter lost a child or a younger sibling? Loyalty and unrequired protectiveness seemed to linger about the demon hunter.

The scent of burning brimstone had also caught Nikolas off guard as well, though that was less of an issue in the present than it'd been two years prior.

Leivinia Birdway spoke, her voice soft and melodic.

"Give me a reason why I shouldn't forbid you from interfering with another cabal's business. One reason is all I ask for, Thepes."

"With all due respect, aside from the simple truth that my former associates are a coven, not a cabal, the demon-world of Deadrift Scar is a land not fit for man or non-demonic beast."

"And?" Leivinia inquired, as if Iosephus Thepes' answer wasn't sufficient.

"There are plenty of places here on Earth that aren't fit for anyone. Like this hick town for example."

The demon hunter struggled against but failed to fight the amused grin that tugged at the corners of his lips.

"A hick town? Perhaps that's not quite the right description, Dawn-Colored Lady. I see no banjo-playing folks clad in overalls and rubber boots."

"It's the right description if I say it's the right description."

Despite her harsh words, Leivinia bit into the inside of cheek as she forced back a giggle. The vision conjured in her mind's eye was just too much.

" _Don't do that. Don't try to make me laugh. The neophytes need stoic and domineering, Thepes, not a giggling little cheerleader. They need a leader."_

"Of course, my Lady. Please forgive my act of forceful assertion."

"You're forgiven. Try not to let it happen again."

"Assisting in the Order of the Dark Feather's assault on the demon-world would assure us constant allies and it would that my conscious stays clear, though I wouldn't declare myself open to assisting with my former coven's invasion of Deadrift Scar without your explicit permission. The thought of a man who remains a close friend being brutally tortured and beaten within inches of life by demonic filth doesn't sit particularly well with me, Dawn-Colored Lady. Daemonic souls can always be obtained through simple summoning rituals, though this method will be more time-consuming."

Leivinia raised an eyebrow. "Then I forbid you from involving yourself. You'll summon as many demons as you need right here, in our own world. And you're sure this… "Deadrift Scar" possesses enough of these so-called… "Daemonic souls" to power what you believe is some sort of demon hunter weaponry? Curse your kind for being so secretive, Thepes. I ought to kick you in the face."

" _I'm sorry. You know your duties."_

"Understood, Dawn-Colored Lady. More than enough to deal with what is almost certainly a subordinate of some sort. A demon powerful enough to act of its own accord, with free will, wouldn't need any sort of disguise. Someone pulls the strings of this "Spring-heeled Jack", who is not "Spring-heeled Jack" at all. The smell alone is different from that which lingers around my spellsiblings. This "Spring-heeled Jack" is a mindless demonic charge being controlled from afar."

Iosephus Thepes motioned towards the jar. The movement of his hand seemingly 'awoke' Nikolas Rivers, who jumped in place.

While both Thepes and Rivers were clad in luxurious and overtly informal suits, Nikolas Rivers seemed much more comfortable in his own. The demon hunter looked constricted. Indeed, an informal suit was far less comfortable than a ritualistic robe or armored clothing bound and infused with Daemonic power.

But it was what the Lady called for, and so Thepes would bend knee to her will.

"This is without a doubt a Soulgrinder," Iosephus Thepes explained. Leivinia Birdway listened on, adorned in her flowing, grand piano-like dress she rested the side of her face against her hand, propped up on her elbow. Leivinia kicked her small stocking-clad legs back and forth, the heels of her ornate shoes repeatedly clacked against the oaken flooring.

"It consumes Daemonic souls – of which there are plenty within the Dark Beyond as I've been taught by my betters – and forges the product of these grounded souls into a near-infinite source of energy that rivals even Telesma in its potency."

The Dawn-Colored Sunlight's leader tilted her head to one side.

"Telesma, you say? Greater than Telesma?"

"Not necessarily. Rivals Telesma, not stronger than. Souls of any kind that've been stripped of their mortal shells are incredibly potent things, beings of pure, unrefined mental and spiritual will. I don't intend to ride against the international laws that've been set in place regarding soul-binding simply out of moral principal. Unless you would order me to do such."

Leivinia Birdway clicked her tongue at the mention of "soul-binding".

"I wouldn't. Are there any drawbacks to this weaponry? I'd prefer to know of such things before I rested all of my goals and ambitions on its use, Thepes."

"Weaponry such as Soulgrinders are inherently cursed, being forged by demon hunters with Daemonic-infused magic. A Saint attempting to touch the weapon would be reduced to ash almost instantaneously. The Pope himself would likely explode upon contact with this weapon, taking most of Europe with him."

"Bloody Hell! You can't be serious! Boss, he can't be serious! Is he joking?! Gah! No! He never jokes! Boss, this isn't a good idea. Iosephus, my friend, please reconsider your course of action."

Nikolas Rivers had risen from his awkward stupor. He looked from one of his leader's suited lackeys to another, and then to another.

What would happen if he touched the weapon? Nikolas didn't want to know. He tried to bury the question as best as he could.

Why did Iosephus Thepes insist on enabling her?

"Am I ever not serious? Is there a problem, Sir Rivers? Relax yourself, any of you could handle the Soulgrinder with a simple pair of gloves, as I've already discussed with _the_ Dawn-Colored Lady."

"Like mine," Leivinia gloated. Indeed, her hands were adorned with simplistic rubber gloves. Within them she wiggled her fingers.

Extending her hand, Leivinia offered the extremity to the demon hunter Iosephus Thepes. Nikolas Rivers looked on, confused at first before everything fell into place within his mind.

It was a display of control, like a dog's master ordering their beast to sit or to fetch a stick thrown across a field.

"Kiss."

The demon hunter did exactly that, taking his leader's small, glove-clad hand into his own and placing a soft kiss to its top before he continued with his explanation.

"Good boy."

"Those imbued with magic inspired, powered by the tales of Yahweh don't mix well with the Daemonic. Needless to say this Soulgrinder will be more than sufficient in destroying this demon-puppet that plagues London, my Lady. The only issue that plagues us is this: it's completely depowered. Think of a flashlight requiring batteries to function."

Nikolas Rivers clicked his tongue.

"I don't think this hamlet needs to see the opening of one of your… "Daemonic Portculli" … my friend. You would have to place the entire population beneath the power of ignorance runes."

"Then we'll cast in the woodlands. A Daemonic Portcullis is the only reliable means in which the Dark Beyond can be reached."

Leivinia rose from her seat, tossing her chair back. The piece of furniture was quickly scooped up and set back into place by one of her eighteen followers. Both Iosephus Thepes and Nikolas Rivers rose while exercising considerably more caution.

"Are the runes remaining in place?"

"I don't see why not, my Lady. The townsfolk can do without a single tavern. There're others."

"You're a dick, Thepes."

"Says you, Sir Rivers. Says you."

Parting the twin oaken doors, Leivinia Birdway's dress flowed like a river, partially lifted and batted about by the light breeze that had begun to sweep through the hamlet. The group of twenty-one piled out from the tavern, Leivinia's muscle-lackeys silently and obediently following behind.

A series of enormous SUVs, windows tinted darker than the void itself, each white as the moon that orbited planet Earth sat in the parking area just beyond the tavern's outer patio. Consisting of little more than dirt, dried mud and dust, the tires of the vehicles had been sullied, dyed a light shade of brown.

"I expect these tires to be licked clean, Thepes," Leivinia remarked. "My shoes as well. This is unacceptable. Would it kill these hicks to lay down some pavement?"

Nikolas Rivers bit his lip, holding back laughter that threatened to escape.

"As you command, my Lady."

"Don't actually do that. I was messing with you. If I told you to jump from a bridge to your certain death, would you do it?"

"… right. That would depend. If the act ensured your safety I would do so without hesitation."

"You're so weird."

" _It's okay. You're alright most of the time. They can't know that, though. Our business relationship is nice and uncomplicated…"_

Prying the driver's side door of one an SUV open, Nikolas Rivers set himself in the driver's seat, while Leivinia sat herself down in the passenger seat. Within the back, a total of six muscle-lackeys piled into the SUV's rear seats, while Iosephus took a seat in the trunk, carrying with him the Soulgrinder. Into the other SUVs the rest of the Dawn-Colored Sunlight's members who'd accompanied their leader and sub-commanders piled, wordlessly following behind the first SUV to leave the parking area, the SUV in question being the vehicle commandeered by Nikolas Rivers.

Loud, upbeat pop music blared over the SUV's speaker system. Leivinia couldn't help but groan. Classical music would've been more up her alley.

"Should there be beasts within the woodlands, Sir Rivers? My Lady? I'll be needing them. Unless you think you can part with some neophytes," Iosephus Thepes spoke from the trunk.

"If the woodlands are lacking, you have my permission to throw these lugs into the fire. Each of them will more than willingly sacrifice themselves to further the Cause of Dawn. Isn't that right, boys?"

"Yes, Miss Birdway!"

The six neophytes replied as one without hesitation and without so much as a single wince or second thought. Like machines programmed to perform a specific set of actions they simply sat upright and waited for what laid in store for them.

Nikolas Rivers didn't reply. Not only was his attention focused on the road, his opinions on human sacrifice to fuel Daemonic magic didn't fall in line with his leader's own.

And that was exactly why it didn't matter.

Then, there was a shocking revelation.

"Wrong answer," Leivinia cryptically stated. "Wrong answer. Thepes, have a conversation with them when we return to base."

"As you command, my Lady."

Down a series of dirt paths the SUVs travelled, passing fenced boundaries and large fieldscapes dotted with farmland. Leivinia occasionally pointed out a group of grazing cows or several slumbering horses in the many fields, the upbeat pop music broadcasted by whatever radio station Nikolas Rivers had last been listening to washing over the vehicle's inhabitants like the waves from an ocean.

With their way illuminated only by the headlights of their vehicle and by the natural illumination of the moon, Nikolas Rivers exercised caution, even as Leivinia urged him to pick up the pace of their trip.

Soon enough the woodlands beyond the hamlet's outer bounds became visible. While their pathway had been flanked by great trees with thick, mighty trunks for some time, the denseness increased tenfold, and the natural illumination offered by the moon soon faded from sight entirely, masked by the foliage above.

In the trunk, Iosephus Thepes waged a mental war of words inside of his head.

This war wasn't waged with himself. It was a war waged against another being entirely, one that was quite literally bound and trapped within him, one whose voice boomed like the reverberating crash of ceremonial clubs against a tribal drum. When it raged, Thepes' blood boiled. Sometimes it would whisper truly horrid things into his ear, and sometimes it would get the better of him.

But that was where masturbation and unrelated acts of self-harm came into the picture. There was always a release.

" _Decimelech, bend to my will. Grant me the power to track the flowing blood of the beasts."_

" _No. I refuse."_

" _You will bend knee to my will."_

" _No. Your mother sucks cocks in Hell."_

" _BOW BEFORE MY SUPERIOR POWER."_

" _No. I will fuck your asshole inside out until it bleeds. I will inseminate your urinary tract, mortal, human filth. Then, I'll rape..."_

Iosephus Thepes quickly produced a small utility knife from within the pocket of his pants. Rolling up his suit jacket's sleeve, he began viciously stabbing himself in the wrist. He yanked the weapon downwards, biting his lip as crimson lifeblood spilled from the wound. The demon hunter grunted, holding back a bark of pain.

Already covered in bloodied, scabbed-over scars, the demon hunter's right wrist bled and he didn't stop. The demon hunter stabbed the tip of the knife in once more, drawing lifeblood once again.

" _You will bow to me in the end. Just give up, just break. You always bow to me, demonic filth. You're inside of me, a part of me. You're just another part of my mind. You're little more than a slave. My willpower alone will overwhelm you. Combined with this anguish you won't resist much longer. Now BREAK!"_

" _I… grant you… my power… m-master… stop. Please stop. I beg for your mercy, demon hunter. You've proved yourself the s-stronger once again. There is n-no need for further… torment. You've won. I am broken."_

The eyelids of Iosephus Thepes widened and his pupils shrunk, becoming vaguely catlike in their shape. His irises, once a shade of light grey turned to a bright shade of emerald green, illuminating the trunk of the SUV in which he laid. Applying pressure to the wounds he'd created, Iosephus stemmed the flow of his own lifeblood that was dead set on fleeing from his body.

Channeling the power of the enslaved demon Decimelech the Heroesbane, once-Overwatcher of the demon-world Nagrskoil, the flow of the lifeblood within the bodies of the beasts in the woodlands was known to Iosephus Thepes. He felt their heartbeats just as Decimelech the Heroesbane once felt the heartbeats of his own prey, the self-styled heroes who invaded his world only to prove themselves unworthy in the event of their eventual conflict.

"Sir Rivers, I'll need some bandages for these wounds. There are plenty of KILL THEM ALL beasts in these woodlands, I know them FUCK YOU DIE all. I know where they dwell and know that they flee our vehicles. CUNT! CUNT! CUNT! Stop them here. Decimelech is struggling to DON'T YOU DARE SPEAK MY NAME FUCK YOU AND DIE to break DIEDIEDIEDIE through. Altogether unpleasant, I know."

Reaching into the vehicle's glovebox, Nikolas Rivers produced a great wad of gauss, along with some medical tape. Nikolas both methods of first aid behind him, never taking his eyes off the road in front of him. One of Leivinia's muscle-lackeys caught the supplies and then handed them back to the bloodied mess of a demon hunter.

"Many thanks, my friend. KILL THE DEMON HUNTER AND I WILL GRANT YOU POWER BEYOND IMAGINING. I WILL MAKE YOU THE GOD OF THIS… oh just silence yourself. WORLD! Please hush, Decimelech. You're simply embarrassing yourself now. You're utterly powerless, like a cuckolded househusband. I command you. NO YOU DON'T! I REJECT YOU! You're broken."

"Keep that thing under control," Leivinia scolded. "Surely no one here wishes to hear your pet demon screaming about rape and pillaging."

"Yes, my Lady."

" _Stop making yourself suffer. Idiot."_

The SUV came to a skidding halt, the tires of the vehicle spitting up a combination of semi-liquefied mud and damp masses of leaves which'd been collected and forcibly pressed against one another.

From the trunk, which Nikolas Rivers popped open with the press of a button beneath the vehicle's dashboard, Iosephus Thepes emerged, stumbling awkwardly, irises glowing green in the near-complete darkness of the woodlands.

There were several bucks and several lady-deer not far from the demon hunter's position. Trees of all shapes and sizes, many of which were bent awkwardly in almost unnatural-seeming positions surrounded the Dawn-Colored Sunlight convoy.

"I won't step out into this muck," Leivinia firmly stated. Though the demon hunter couldn't see it, she folded her arms across her chest and huffed, crossing her left leg over her right. "Should you make me come out there, I _will_ be making you lick my shoes clean. Do we understand one another?"

"Perfectly, my Lady."

Nikolas Rivers struggled to hold in yet another round of laughter. Stepping out from within the vehicle, he maneuvered through the woodlands' muck in hot pursuit of the demon hunter, his fellow sub-commander, and fellow subordinate.

"Oi! Thepes! You speak of cuckolded househusbands but you're not all that different when compared to one, eh? A slave to th' skirt, as they say!"

"I WILL STRIKE YOU DOWN, MORTAL FILTH! BOW TO ME! BEG FOR YOUR PATHETIC HUMAN LIFE! Hardly. To imply such is inappropriate, given the age gap between the Dawn-Colored Lady and myself. I apologize Decimelech's outburst, Sir Rivers. Decimelech is being truly unruly this evening. I may have to engage in genital mutilation at this rate. ANYTHING BUT THAT! I SUBMIT! OH, THE PAIN IS TOO GREAT! I DESPISE YOU WITH ALL OF MY HEART AND SOUL! Altogether I would have to disagree. A cuckolded househusband spends most of his days crying. I don't cry."

Iosephus Thepes leaned forward, and then from his back, he produced an enormous, double-edged and serrated blade that'd been mounted in place. Vaguely square-shaped, though with a slight curve to its shape, the blade's edges were dull and practically nonexistent; the weapon looked better suited to cleaving and shearing than to stabbing. Ornate and decorated with numerous Daemonic runes and sigils, the weapon was gripped by its handle, situated in the center of the blade, where both edges were connected.

Placing the forefront of one edge into the muck, causing the muck to squirm and spit wads of leaf-stuffed mud up at him, Thepes focused.

He began to move the forefront of the blade's edge about in the muck, carving out savage, ugly-looking runes. Under his breath, he muttered and repeated the same selection of morbid words with each rune he created. One after the other, the runes carved into the muck began to glow a shade of emerald green, empowered by the demon hunter's willpower and his connection to the fell being trapped within him.

"Rape, homicide, infanticide, suicide, treachery, adultery, manipulation, abortion. With the elements of mankind's darkest crimes, the shadow we cannot escape I command that the demon within to bend to my will and do my bidding."

The demon hunter had surrounded himself in a circle of glowing runes. Nikolas Rivers watched from afar, being able to make out crude images that resembled screaming faces. One rune resembled a fetus being torn from a womb by a savage, gnarled hook. Another resembled an image depicting one crude depiction of a vaguely humanlike thing forcibly pushing itself upon another vaguely humanlike thing whose legs were forced into the air, its arms flailing.

Compared to the alternative, relying upon Idol Theory to act as a conduit between demon hunter and demon-slave was much less messy.

"Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Wrath, Envy, Pride. With the sins that mar the flesh of humankind, I command that the world bend to my will and do my bidding. I call for the Fell Fires of Decimelech. Come to my command and grant me your fell power…"

Iosephus Thepes had called and Decimelech the Heroesbane was forced to answer.

Emerald green flames licked and crackled in the palms of the demon hunter's hands, surging out from between his fingers as smoke that reeked of brimstone rose into the atmosphere.

Systemically the demon hunter brought down a total of four bucks, each hunted down and slain by homing orbs of emerald fire the demon hunter threw from the palms of his hands. The creatures screamed aloud in the deepest of agonies as they died, their very souls burned away by the fires of Dis. One of their carcasses tumbled down a hill, coming to rest near a riverbank. With his double-edged blade, Iosephus Thepes slit their throats and severed their heads.

The ground beneath the suffering, dying animals was becoming tinged with a shade of bright green. Tree roots physically moved themselves away from the potent corruption, slithering away like frightened serpents discovered trespassing in a garden. Where bright green began to appear, the land beneath began to sizzle and smoke as it was charred, twisted from a healthy forest floor to sections of darkened, barren wastes.

Soon, both Iosephus Thepes and Nikolas Rivers had collected the carcasses, piling them atop one another unceremoniously, as if they hadn't once been living creatures at all. Demon hunter and magician alike treated the carcasses as if they were little more than bags of garbage. In a circular formation, the severed buck heads had been set, their empty eyes looking up at the foliage above which blotted out the night's sky.

The difference between them laid in the amount of remorse either party felt come upon them as a result of their acts of desecration. The demon hunter felt none, while the magician's mind was burdened by the acts of cruelty against innocent, harmless beasts.

"I require the Soulgrinder," the demon hunter explained after he'd urinated on the piled corpses. "If you'd be so kind as to retrieve the device from the Dawn-Colored Lady, I'll work to summon forth a more loyal servant than the broken slave who dwells inside of me to assist in the process of filling the device."

"If you'd be so kind as to retrieve the device from the Dawn-Colored Lady, I'll work to summon forth a more loyal servant to assist the broken slave who dwells inside of me in the process of filling the device."

"This is profane, my friend. These are the evillest of magics."

The demon hunter wasn't about to argue with that logic. Nikolas Rivers wasn't wrong.

Such was the cost of ultimate power over otherwise uncontrollable and unconquerable evil. Such was the cost of not wishing to beg for scraps at the foot of a treacherous and cruel "god", such was the cost of working with power beyond Yahweh's, beyond the scope of the minds of most mortals.

"The Soulgrinder, Sir Rivers. Please. Beasts die every day. Though they suffered their pain was not extended. These beasts would have suffered worse if they'd been caught in a game hunter's scope."

Nikolas Rivers nodded, produced an unapproving sigh and then began his short if strenuous journey. He sloshed and pushed through the muck, moving towards the SUV in which Leivinia Birdway sat with the device sought by the demon hunter. She occupied her time by playing a jumping-platforming video game on her smartphone.

Meanwhile, Thepes had nearly erased the runes he'd carved in the muck. Though his grasp over the power's over the fires of the demon within had been loosened, the connection between two beings severed, a new connection would be forged in its place.

Utilizing his double-edged blade as a great pen, the demon hunter began to surround himself with a new circle of runic carvings and then constructed another around the carcasses of the buck corpse pile, just as Nikolas Rivers returned with the strange, hourglass-shaped jar apparently known as a Soulgrinder.

Runic images had been carved, not of abhorrent acts or of torturous scenes; rather, crude representations of air, fire, water, earth and ether had been carved out in the semi-liquefied muck, along with simplistic square shapes containing numerous squiggled lines within them.

"Feel free to place the device wherever you please, Sir Rivers," Iosephus remarked. "The curses laid upon this device, whose origin can be found in the oldest of demon hunting tomes, should force Daemoniac souls to flow towards and subsequently into it for grinding. I've worked with such things before, it's all quite simple in fact…

"Rape, homicide, infanticide, suicide, treachery, adultery, manipulation, abortion. With the elements of mankind's darkest crimes, the shadow we cannot escape I command that the Dark Beyond bend to my will and do my bidding.

"Lust, Gluttony, Greed, Sloth, Wrath, Envy, Pride. With the sins that mar the flesh of humankind, I command that the world bends to my will and do my bidding. I reach to the Dark Beyond and demand for Mar'los the Violent to answer its master's call. Mar'los the Violent, I summon you on this dark night! I bind you to me! Let the Chains of Servitude rend your accursed flesh!"

For some few moments, nothing out of the ordinary occurred. Nikolas Rivers and Iosephus Thepes alike repeatedly moved about in the muck, attempting to prevent themselves from becoming trapped within it.

Mere moments before Rivers was about to voice his concerns regarding a possible failure in Thepes' methods, the muck-covered grounds of the woodlands began to violently tremble. The trees vibrated, their leaves falling from their branches while the birds and the woodland beasts that dwelled within them (and below them) fled for their lives, screeching and chirping aloud out of anxiousness.

Before the demon hunter, whose eyes were closed with a brow furrowed in concentration, repeating his mantra repeatedly within his mind, reality itself was torn.

A mass of emerald green miasma rose from the buck corpse pile, originating from the carcasses themselves.

The life force that remained within the conscious-less husks was being drained like water from a reservoir, used as an agent to fuel the profane ritual, in a manner mechanically similar to gas being ignited within the shell of a lighter.

The tear was small, no larger than the average refrigerator found within the average English home. A dark void dotted with rocklike debris, seemingly marred by flowing ribbons of bright and multicolored energy laid within the tear, or perhaps beyond it.

Reality truly had been torn there. A vision of the Dark Beyond had been painted by invisible hands.

Nikolas Rivers and Leivinia Birdway, the latter of whom turned around in her seat to get a better look at what exactly her pesky subordinates were getting themselves into both saw stars and distant celestial bodies, some of which looked less like worlds and more like enormous, sparkling jewels.

"Bloody hate looking too deeply into those… rifts you make. Give me air sickness. Is there anything else you need assistance with, oh needy one? Or might I see myself to a location in which I don't feel like I'm suddenly going to be sucked into the star-ways?"

"Then look away Sir Rivers. Your assistance, much appreciated I ought to remark, is no longer required. I should rightly be able to contend with the filling of the device."

Mere seconds before Nikolas Rivers prepared to turn away from the unnatural scene unfolding before him, the tear in reality began to flow like the currents of a body of water, as if the tear itself was a liquid surface. Shifting, contorting and twisting upon itself, something emerged.

"Who dares summon me?! Incompetent and stupid master! YOU'RE summoning ME? Preposterous. Prepare yourself, we have company. The warmth of this world calls out to those who drift in the Dark Beyond."

Easily standing over ten feet tall, the being summoned into the mortal plane by Iosephus Thepes was far from human. Its flesh was a shade of dull orange, its forehead sloped and its eyes looked to be almost too small for its head. Wielding a terrible, jagged battle-axe larger than the demon hunter himself, the demonic summon's arms and legs were thicker than its master's torso, while the summon's own barrel chest was enormous and musclebound. Clad in thick, heavily-plated armor that covered its entire form excepting its nose-less face, the broad-shouldered thing lumbered forward, shaking the earth beneath it with each step its enormous, plated feet took.

It was what some called a Nephilim, the long-lost and ill-fated result of Fallen Angels interbreeding with humankind.

"How many, Mar'los? What species and subspecies? What kingdoms?"

"Many. Mere swarming imps, easily dispatched by… what in the world is THAT?! An Aughsbak? Soulgrinder?! You would dare allow such a thing to be present before me?!"

A series of darkened, emerald green-tinged chains tightened around the summon, forcing it to kneel before Iosephus Thepes. The chains didn't simply bite into the summon's armor; they passed directly through the heavily-plated gear and bit into the summon's flesh, causing it to grunt in pain.

"I will put you through agony completely inconceivable by your pathetic, fragile mind if you don't silence yourself and do as you're told, inhuman, demonic slave. Now strike down anything that emerges from the Portcullis."

"Yes… master."

And creatures did emerge, rushing to the warmth of Earth's vast cornucopia of life like a wife rushing to the arms of her husband who'd returned from battle.

The size of small dogs, they stood upright, with large heads and unnaturally thin necks. Their heads were awkwardly-shaped, like a series of malformed crops. Several spines jettisoned from the tops of their heads. Emerald embers sat within their eye sockets, perpetually burning. Tiny, useless wings jutted from their backs. Their hands and feet seemed to be too large for their bodies.

They cackled aloud like a group of old hags. Iosephus' summon Mar'los engaged the beasts, taunting them and demanding them to throw themselves upon it, and they certainly did, though others chose to hurl small, crackling orbs of emerald flame at their foe instead.

"Yakekekekeke! Warm! Eat 'em! Eat 'em!"

"N-no! Gaaaah! Bad guys! D-demon hunter! RUUUUUUUN!"

Iosephus Thepes himself, empowered by the native strength of Decimelech the Heroesbane brought his double-edged blade down upon the tiny, cackling beasts, instantaneously killing many of them with a series of well-placed and overwhelmingly damaging swipes. Their flesh parted and their bones snapped like twigs.

A disturbed Nikolas Rivers and a silently impressed Leivinia Birdway watched on from the SUV. Ribbons of emerald green would emerge from the broken creatures, dance in the air for the span of a few moments and then swiftly careen towards the glowing and shuddering ornate jar, where they would come to rest. The cursed Daemoniac magic that infested the device called the imps' darkened souls to their new home.

Many more imps entered the mortal plane through the Daemonic Portcullis and that many more were slain, their emerald green ribbons 'stolen' by the Soulgrinder which eventually began to gently rock from one side to the other, though it never fell.

From within a deep voice boomed, warped and distorted, like it was an audio file that'd been the victim of heavy backmasking, one which caused Iosephus Thepes to pause, and one which sent a chill down the spine of even the Dawn-Colored Sunlight's leader.

"You've made an unwise choice, "demon hunter"... I have mowed down your wretched kind by the tens of thousands and I will do so again! I pleasure myself to the screams your kind have let loose as I tore them limb from limb. Blood, souls, the Savage Slaughter! Not even Arthur Pendragon could defeat me. Let the unraveling of this pathetic world COMMENCE! Tichonaax cometh, humans!"

"It would seem we've attracted company. Back through the Portcullis. Now," Iosephus eventually commanded. "Begone. I don't wish to see your disgusting form any longer."

Scarred and bloodied, missing one of its eyes and chunks of its face, the demon hunter's summon nodded its empty head, uttered a grunt of pain as a section of its lower lip was blasted away by a fireball unleashed from the hands of a surviving imp. It then rushed through the tear in reality, crushing beneath its plated, cloven feet imps that'd made the mistake of getting in its way.

Iosephus Thepes hastily destroyed the runic circles he'd carved out in the semi-liquefied muck; as a result, the tear was instantaneously mended. Closing with a shudder, the earth shook one final time as if it was in the last stages of its death throes. Silence descended upon the woodlands just outside of Catherdine, the residents of the Welsh hamlet having no concept of the perverse rituals that'd taken place.

An unspeakable, abhorrent evil has been prevented from entering the world. But such a prevention would not bring back the unjustly slain.

"Are we finished?" Leivinia called out, impatiently. She rocked back and forth in her seat, repeatedly tapping her smartphone's screen even though she'd locked the device.

"The ritual has come to a close, Dawn-Colored Lady. The Soulgrinder possesses enough fuel for weeks of constant use, two or three at the absolute least by my estimates. My estimates are rarely incorrect."

"Satisfactory. Thepes, get in the shotgun seat. It's uncomfortable here so I'm sitting on you. You don't have a say in this decision."

"Understood, my Lady."

* * *

February 7th, 2004. 1:52 PM.

Just how Kamijou Touma had found himself in a one of the fanciest, and not to mention most recently-constructed dance clubs was a mystery, and yet it was almost too clear.

The trip had been something of a blur, and yet he could remember every detail, every movement that Kumokawa Seria's lips had made during her explanation regarding the "brand spanking new" Club Orange.

The original plan had been to find their way to Cinema One, then grab lunch together and go ahead with whatever was suggested and mutually agreed upon from there.

Not all matters were going to flow per pre-set plans, evidently.

Apparently located on the Dianoid's mid level, the club was monolithic. The dancefloor alone must've been the size of a single floor of dorms in Touma's dormitory, quite easily.

The flashing, strobing lights leaping seemingly in all directions from above might've served to distract or otherwise disorient the average human being, but Kamijou Touma was neither of those. He tracked and made note of their movements, studying and cataloging them on a subconscious level. His converted mind silently performed all of the 'menial' labors in the background.

Regardless of circumstances, Kamijou Touma was very much enjoying himself. This fact was further solidified by the fact that a flawless, gorgeous woman such as Kumokawa Seria was grinding her form against his own, not to mention the additional fact that either of Touma's hands had found their way to his senpai's hips, where they'd come to firmly rest.

She controlled the floor, making herself and Kamijou Touma the center of attention. All eyes were on Kumokawa Seria, and Kamijou Touma to a lesser extent.

"Enjoying yourself, Touma-kun?" Seria inquired, speaking over the blaring, thumping house music transmitted by the DJ's immense speaker systems. The very club itself was shaken to its core by the thumping, though no one seemed to notice or otherwise mind.

"How couldn't I be? Have you taken a good look at yourself today? You're stunning! You're… you."

Kamijou Touma's response was swift and sure. Mimicking the body motions of those who clearly knew how to bust a move, Touma could rise to the challenge of operating in a very unfamiliar situation.

Even if Touma couldn't see it, Kumokawa Seria's cheeks instantaneously began to glow a deep, darkened shade of red.

" _Just make love to me, would you? Just take my virginity. I've waited so, so long for you, my little kohai…"_

For a moment, Touma thought he saw an equally red, almost auburn blur of some type moving quite skillfully among the crowds of dancers, both male and female alike who couldn't quite keep up to the pace held by Seria, a skillful, elegant dancer herself, and Touma the nanorobotic copycat.

Tossing her head back, and then to the left, Seria's dark hair flowed like the feathers of a proud and elegant bird beating its wings against the air. Seria faced Touma, allowing her body to move of its own accord, her hips swaying as 'autopilot' was enabled.

"You're too sweet to me, Touma-kun, my little kohai. Tell me, can you drink things still?"

Touma had to think about the answer for a moment. Pulling Seria close, he leaned inwards as his nanorobotic form continued its mechanical copied dance routine.

"Don't know. There's one way to find out, worst that'll happen is that it'll go right through me."

"The beverages are supposedly non-alcoholic, so intoxication won't be an issue for either one of us. If you'd like, I can fetch us something from the bar. I wouldn't mind leaving the floor for a few moments."

Touma and Seria moved as one towards the dancefloor's nearest exit, one of several small staircases flanked by bulbs that transmitted neon lighting, with provided considerable illumination.

"I'll make you a deal, senpai. Give me a kiss and I'll allow you to leave… I'm definitely messing with you, but I do want a…"

"Oh, shut up Sir Knight. You're just a bit too righteous sometimes."

Kumokawa Seria forcibly crashed her lips against her kohai's just after they'd barely managed to escape the less-than-oddly alluring pull of the dancefloor. Forcing her tongue into Touma's mouth, Seria gave him quite the kiss indeed. Before she pulled away completely, she nibbled on her kohai's lower lip.

"Satisfied?"

"Y-yep. For now, I might need another one, though."

While Seria moved towards Club Orange's expansive and heavily-populated bar, Touma set himself down in one of six leather seats situated around one of many dark, metallic tables. Numerous emptied and semi-emptied glasses, as well as plates covered in crumbs and numerous colorful stains dotted the table's otherwise cleanly surface, marring it considerably.

It was disgusting. Whoever had been seated at the table last must've been raised like an animal, never taught a single manner in their life. Kamijou Touma grunted in aggravation. What udder disrespect... one of the glasses contained milk... udder.

Being funny never had been one of Touma's strong suits. He groaned at his own mental antics.

Just as he leaned forward, resting the side of his face against his hand, propped up by his right arm's elbow, someone who wasn't Kumokawa Seria joined him at the table.

Clad in a light-colored, incredibly revealing dress which showcased her breasts' considerable cleavage, not to mention most of her impressive legs, a proud and very pleased-looking Musujime Awaki leaned in as well. Move Point raised an eyebrow as her lips curled upwards into a sarcastic smirk.

"Who's the mack?" Awaki rhetorically inquired. She leaned in further, winking at the being that resembled a perfectly normal young man across from her.

"I've heard a few things about you, heeeee~rooooo, and some of them involved a supposed skill with attracting members of the opposite gender. It'd appear that the pervert and even the lolicon weren't lying. For once. Quite the catch you've got there."

"Good to see you too, Musujime," Touma sarcastically spat, though his rough exterior didn't hold out for long. He soon found himself chuckling.

"I can't deny that it's true, but I'm not going to be a douche about it. It really is good to see you again, I wasn't lying. You're not dancing alone, are you? Gorgeous girl like you deserves better, y'know."

"Hardly. Didn't arrive with a date and I don't particularly intend on leaving with one, not today. I dance with whoever can hold the floor. Simple. Don't really want a lanky, awkward sunnavabitch who can't hold his own. Not appealing, I like confidence. Like yours. You're not quite the type I'd take home, but I could see myself roughing you up."

"Is that so?" Touma inquired, leaning further inwards. "I try. Confidence is something that's built, though, you're not born with it. You look really good, by the by, I'm liking the dress… speaking of which, shouldn't you be in class?"

"Thank you. Shouldn't YOU be in class?"

Touma couldn't argue with that. That was exactly where he was supposed to be. He could literally see Komoe's crying face as a sea of machine-phase matter temporarily clouded his vision.

"I guess we're both delinquents, huh? A couple of felons on the run. How's everything? I hope you're doing well."

"Well enough," Awaki spoke. Leaning back in her seat, she folded either of her arms beneath her bosom.

"With the business related and unrelated to that half-assed teleporter out of the way, I've been able to chill out for a while. I've learned a lot, boy. But that's life, no? You're always learning something about something. It sounds corny, but I've been doing a lot of sculpting lately. Clay, you know? There's something therapeutic about it."

While he'd certainly been paying attention to his conversational partner's words, considering the weight of each, Touma couldn't quite get his mind off her body. Awaki's skin looked very smooth, like the softest of silks. Kamijou Touma had to physically prevent himself from licking his lips. Pale and dotted with the occasional freckle, Awaki's flesh was otherwise unmarred. She wore no makeup at all; instead she'd taken the 'all-natural' route.

Touma nodded, partially lost in his own contemplations.

"Nothing to be ashamed of, art is art Musujime. I don't really have a talented bone... heh. In my body, so I guess I should be jealous. I've been writing a bit here and there but… y'know, boring nonfiction. No magical dragons or superpowered gods here."

"I'm still an amateur," Awaki remarked with a shrug, "it's the relaxation factor that counts to me. Clay's really soft, feels good when it's in your hands, between your fingers."

_"And I bet my cock would feel very good stuffed into the cavity between your legs, but do go on, Musujime... you look delicious. I wonder if she's a virgin? Could probably find out... nah. Invasion of privacy. Her bleeding for me sounds pretty hot. Shame it can only happen once."_

"I can't help but recommend that you try it sometime, Kamijou. Maybe you've got the fingers for it and you just don't know it?"

"Funny thing," Touma spoke. Awaki raised an eyebrow and looked into his eyes, suggesting that he had her attention, at least for a short period of time. "A close friend of mine has actually been doing some sort of… what'd she call it? "Expressive Art" or something? She's got these abstract paintings all over her dorm. Relevant?"

"Relevant enough."

She was gorgeous. What was it about him? Why did he always end up in the presence of gorgeous, perfect women? The way Awaki's auburn twintails flowed down her back was an exotic, perfect look for her. Her hair accented her dress and her pale, kissable skin as well.

Kamijou Touma didn't know it, but Musujime Awaki was thinking similar thoughts about him. With his hair flattened, fringe swept to the side, adorned in a wrinkleless suit seemingly intended for informal occasions, he looked like a true gentleman.

" _She's flawless. I think I want to get to know her better. Who knows? Maybe we could hit it off, fucked up sexual thoughts aside. She seems reasonable enough."_

" _He's hot, a bit on the older side, but he's pretty hot. What a dreamy kid. Come on girl, let's get closer. That confidence is… a real turn-on… hope he's not a lolicon."_

From within one of the pockets of her dress, which apparently had pockets, or at least one, Musujime Awaki produced a crumpled mess of paper. She offered it to Kamijou Touma in an outstretched hand.

"'Fore I forget, check this out. There're a bunch of these scattered all over the tables… some sort of New Age crap? Not gonna find a lot of buyers out here. I thought it was pretty funny, so maybe you'll get a kick out of it too."

Touma indeed took the crumpled mess and proceeded to uncrumple it.

There he was. If Kamijou Touma possessed a human heart, it would've skipped a beat.

It was the paper bag man in all his faceless glory. Depicted from the neck up, blocks of text were present both above and below the paper bag with eyeballs peaking out from within its strategically-cut holes. Scrawled in Japanese, English, an odd written language consisting of squiggles and many dots, a vaguely runic-seeming language which turned out to be Korean and French, a message was conveyed.

" _No More Lies, Secrecy and Oppression. Solidarity in the Sons of Taured."_

" _Find us. Liberate Your Mind from the Chains of Oppressive Tyrants. Oseltaeb."_

Opening the pamphlet, Kamijou Touma's vision skimmed over the words printed within. Simplistic in its design, the pamphlet was much more heavily set on conveying a message than on appealing to the eye.

" _Hello, and welcome. Whether you've seen our Broadcasts or whether you've been keeping up with our social media posts we welcome you as one. Caucasian, men and women of dark-skinned descent, the indigenous peoples, whatever your race or creed may be we welcome you without hate and without prejudice._

_I will keep these introductory paragraphs as short as possible: magic is real._

" _No, not quite the sort of magic one would see performed by a man in a funny hat. Imagine the power to eradicate disease, to improve the world we live in and annihilate humankind's environmental footprint. Imagine for a moment (if you would) this power being wielded freely by the people, by those who deserves to have control over the world they live in. You and I; for too long have the chosen few reaped the benefits of this power when you and I should reap it as they do."_

The paragraphs continued, and they were full to the brim with incriminating words regarding the 'Other Side'; short exposés regarding Necessarius, Annihilatus and several magical cabals, including those that operated in faraway locations such as West Africa and numerous Middle-Eastern countries were present. Even part of Index's own story was mentioned more than simply in passing. They got almost every detail correct up to the point in which she ended up on the railing of Kamijou Touma's dorm. It was at that point that the tale came to a close. The write-up even mentioned and explained the history of Aureolus Izzard.

Within, she was described as a "slave" and as a "victim of systemic, tyrannical oppression".

Touma would've gulped, if he possessed a human throat that functioned on a regular basis.

"Musujime? How much of this did you read? You know it's…"

" _It's not all "hogwash". There you go again, you prick. Lying to people, now? You're awful… no more lies. This is THEIR fault, how are they just letting this happen? If those magicians are this irresponsible, then fuck it, it's their problem. Not mine. I'm not going to be their puppet."_

"It's dangerous stuff."

"Is it, now?" Awaki questioned, quite skeptically. "Seems like little more than superstitious New Age nonsense to me. What's next? A plesiosaur living in a Scottish Loch? One thing I've got to wonder…"

"What's that?"

"What does Oseltaeb mean…? Pah. Gibberish. Probably something in another language. Looks sort of like Esperanto."

While Kamijou Touma and Musujime Awaki continued to politick, their conversation drifting further down the path of art discussion as Kamijou Touma attempted to turn the conversation's tide in a more neutral direction, Kumokawa Seria had taken to a quiet side of the club's bar.

She wasn't upset or otherwise concerned, not at the interactions shared between Kamijou Touma and the famous level five candidate Move Point at least. Kamijou Touma was no slave, he could speak to whoever he wished to speak to. So long as she didn't find herself getting NTR'd during the day they were sharing together, there was very little to be upset about.

She was quite upset with the individual who'd been incessantly calling her smartphone, leaving far too many messages for his own good.

"You'll tell me what you want with Touma-kun before I hand him over to you, Tsuchimikado. Don't push me."

"Kumokawa, listen to me. It's…"

"We're having a perfectly enjoyable day together and I don't intend for our day to be hijacked by the likes of you and your ilk."

"Kumokawa."

"I wager that you intend to use him for your own gain."

On the other end of the line, Tsuchimikado Motoharu produced a frustrated groan. At least Karasuma Fran and Tsuchimikado Maika seemed to be hitting 'it', whatever that might've been, off well. The two sat before Motoharu's television, lost in whatever program was being broadcasted.

"Not just for my gain, but that's part of it. Don't think I'm enjoying this any more than you, but I have people that I answer to. I don't have much of a choice in the matter. It's other people's necks or it's mine, and I've got more to lose than them."

Kumokawa Seria couldn't see it, but Motoharu turned and looked to Maika. Sat with her legs folded beneath her posterior and dressed in her adorable Ryouran Maid School uniform, she was like a perfect little doll.

There wasn't a thing in the world that he wouldn't do to protect her.

"If you're not going to bother replying, then I'm going to end our call."

"Wha… sorry. Distracted. A lot on my mind."

"I can tell. What I was SAYING, Tsuchimikado… was that you won't be involving my little kohai without involving me. I won't risk losing him again. I won't sit on the sidelines and simply 'hope' that he'll be okay. I've nearly lost him one too many times."

"Do you honestly think that's a choice you can make, Kumokawa? You know a few things about the Magic Side, fine, but that doesn't make it right for you to involve yourself in our affairs."

"When the boy I love so very much is more than likely being thrown to the wolves I have every right to involve myself with 'your affairs'."

"You know about the Magic Side and therefore you know about the chilly state of affairs between it and the realm of science. Don't let emotions cloud your judgment. Do you remember what happened the last time you crossed me, _Kumokawa_?"

"How could I forget, _Tsuchimikado?_ You'll get nothing from me, not until I'm made aware of the details. You can try and hunt me down, try and track my location. You'll fail."

Tsuchimikado Motoharu grunted. His available hand curled into a fist as the overwhelming urge to punch something throbbed within his higher mind, pushing him nearly to savagery.

She was right. There was nothing he could do. His connections only went so far up the proverbial ladder, and an encrypted signal could only be traced so far. The trail would die out somewhere. There were fronts to consider, false masquerades, purposeful dead ends designed to lead information-seekers such as Tsuchimikado Motoharu to a proverbial brick wall.

If he could've lied to himself, if he could've denied it all, that would've made everything much easier for the Backstabbing Blade. It also would've gouged out fewer chunks of his pride.

"Fucking… fine. You win this round, the battle but not the war. Just tell me where you've got Kamijou. I'll have an agent make the connection, she'll run everything through with you while I get things ready. I'll be there too."

"Of course you will... we meet your agent on _our_ terms. Touma-kun's and my own. I won't permit for my kohai to be dragged into this misadventure blindfolded. Out of curiosity…"

"Speak."

"From whom did you learn that my kohai was with me?"

"That's something I can't tell you. I like living."

"Tell me or you'll get nothing, spy."

Tsuchimikado Motoharu's nails were pushed so deeply into the palm of his hand that blood was drawn. He gritted his teeth as his brain felt like it was rattling within his skull.

She had him backed into a corner. He was a dog that'd had its teeth removed.

But that didn't mean he couldn't bite.

He explained the situation; threatening the nun and extorting information from the one-eyed monster while neglecting to inform Seria that he'd done so at gunpoint, the market that'd opened up, the unfounded concern of one among his many incredibly powerful and influential employers, the possibility that said market could've been a front for an invasion attempt by, among other parties, the Dawn-Colored Sunlight magic cabal and the fact that Kamijou Touma had become, for whatever reason, part of the issue at hand.

Kumokawa Seria had listened on, asking a question once or twice, mostly inquiring about specific terms that were unfamiliar to her.

Tsuchimikado Motoharu lied through his teeth with each answer he gave.

"So, a situation with the potential for a deathtrap to be laying just beyond its harmless exterior. Yes, that would've been very good matter to keep a hush-hush little secret."

"I don't make the rules. Agent will meet you outside the Dianoid, girl by the name of Karasuma. Dark hair, shorts, pink hoodie with little robot antennae. You can't miss her, real friendly. I'll be seeing you at the POI. Don't be late; the only… "person" you'll be hurting is your "little kohai."

Kumokawa Seria unceremoniously grunted in response and ended the call. When it came to magical business, she obviously wasn't in any position to call the shots.

Such was quite vexing for her.


	14. Exposure

February 7th, 2004. 2:06 PM.

From the depths of Tokyo Bay a certain white beetle rose, the water's waves crashing against its form. Only the size of a small dog, the queer, green-eyed existence blinked away droplets that splashed up from the currents. It struggled to beat its wings as they emerged from beneath its armored shell.

Soon, a person once thought deceased, Kakine Teitoku, would make himself known once again. He was no human, not in the present, but he would be again. The pathway was paved.

No matter what, the number two ranked level five would prove that he was more than a mere backup plan. Unknown variables such as physically appealing Norse gods be damned.

There was no force on planet Earth that could kill him.

February 7th, 2004. 2:26 PM.

"Olivia-chaaaaaaan."

"Stop."

"Olivia-chaaaaaaaaaaaaaaan."

"I'm only asking you in a polite and civil manner one last time. Please stop. You're making me feel very uncomfortable, and I would much prefer it if you ceased this childish behavior."

"Sorry… Olivia-chaaaaaaaaaan."

" _It this my punishment? Is this the suffering I must endure in exchange for the horrors I bestowed upon the Imagine Breaker? "Aogami Pierce" is my karmic retribution personified, isn't he? His perversions are sick and the deep corners of his twisted mind are surely sicker."_

With Komoe-sensei taking a bathroom break that was supposed to have been brief, Aogami Pierce apparently saw the situation as one in which he could pester the unfortunate object of his affections. She couldn't have hoped with more passion for the class's teacher to return in a timely manner.

Even as Himegami Aisa politely attempted to inform Aogami Pierce of the 'evils' of his ways, and even as Fukiyose Seiri repeatedly throttled him, whacking a metallic mug over his head over and over until a large, solid-looking bump formed on the crown of his head, Aogami Pierce wouldn't relent. He'd pulled up a seat directly next to "Olivia-chan", and he simply did not stop. Was there any stopping him? Was he some kind of perverted force of nature? Was he even human? "Olivia-chan" didn't quite know the answer to any of the questions that floated around within her higher mind's endless corridors.

That bothered her even more. It was the doubt that was eating away at the proverbial inner linings of her mind.

"Olivia-chan," Aogami Pierce pestered. He leaned to the left and attempted to wrap his arm around her shoulders.

This resulted in his arm being violently twisted in a direction it certainly wasn't intended to bend in, and the results showed; Pierce cried aloud in pain as "Olivia-chan" gave him a shove, with her foot, knocking him from his seat. With a grunt, she dusted either of her shoulders off.

"Why do you always hurt me, Olivia-chan?! I LOVE you!"

"Your feelings aren't being reciprocated. Please stop. Have my offerings of friendship not been enough for you?"

"No!" Aogami Pierce exclaimed, practically groveling. He'd attempted to situate his form into something of a proposal pose before Fukiyose Seiri forced him to the ground, pushing down upon his back with her foot and repeatedly stomping on him. "It's not! I LOVE YOOOUUUU! I WANT YOOOOUUUUU! Hold me, Olivia-chan! I'm DESPERATE!"

Komoe-sensei still hadn't returned. Perhaps it was time to take on drastic measures. Sometimes, when push came to shove, one's pride had to not only be pushed aside, but flexed as well.

A small remainder of the sadism she'd utilized against the Imagine Breaker was alive within her. She would wield it as a weapon.

"Olivia-chan" rose from her seat and knelt beside the crushed form of Aogami Pierce. Fukiyose Seiri repeatedly pushed his face into the floor, berating him for his 'horrid' behavior; the fact that he was squealing, seemingly in pleasure, that simply disgusted "Olivia-chan" even more. He was _enjoying_ the torment being dealt onto him.

She placed her index and middle fingers beneath Pierce's chin, forcing his line of vision to fall in line with her own. Confused, Fukiyose Seiri relented, but kept a foot forced down upon Pierce's back, holding him in place.

With her available hand, "Olivia-chan" ensured that her uniform's skirt remained in place.

"You say you're in love with me, "Aogami Pierce"? What does that mean? Does it mean that you'd like to take me out on a date and spoil me? Something more, perhaps? Maybe you'd like to kiss these lips, or hold these hands."

Though they couldn't hear "Olivia-chan's" words, the entire classroom had fallen silent. All eyes were on her, and all eyes were on Aogami Pierce as well.

"Or maybe you'd be fond of attempting to engage in coitus with this body. Let me tell you something."

"O-Olivia-chan?!"

"My significant other fucks me like an animal every night. He pushes me against the wall of his dorm and he ravages me, thrusting into my femininity over and over. I love it. I love being ravaged by him. He can do anything he wants to me, you know... anything. I'm his bitch.

"I regularly encourage him to take me aside while I'm performing any number of trivial tasks that I may or may not be performing and rape me. He does so quite often."

Like a woodland creature caught in a trap, Aogami Pierce squirmed in place. He writhed and flailed his limbs about as if he was a poorly-raised child thrown a temper tantrum in a shopping mall.

"I don't get off to this! OLIVIA-CHAN! YOU'VE FOUND MY ONE WEAKNESS! STOP! STOP I SAY! HALT! UHH… WE NEED A SAFEWORD! SPAGHETTI! RAMEN! TURTLE SOUP! OLIVIA-CHAAAAAAN!"

"His massive, bulging, throbbing masculinity strokes the walls of my genitalia and has full, unrestricted access to my womb."

"NOOOOOO! DON'T NTR MEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE! NTR IS THE WORST FETISH! IT'S SO LOW-GRADE!"

"He's even ejaculated inside of me. He does so regularly, in fact."

"… wait, what? YOU'RE…"

"No, not that. Protection is regularly used to ensure that I don't become pregnant. With his seed constantly being ejected inside of me, however, I am officially owned by him. I'm my significant other's little cock-slut, and I only take his. It's ejaculated inside of me, I swallow it, I let it run down and drip between my breasts when it drips down from my chin as well. Now, please, silence yourself, or I may have to provide you with one of our sex tapes, free of charge."

"ANYTHING BUT THAT! DON'T CUCK ME, PLEASE! I understand! I'll lay off! I-I… I was kidding, anyways! Yeah, I was just fooling around!"

Fukiyose Seiri looked quite disturbed. Olivia-chan simply smiled and returned to her seat, as a shaken Aogami Pierce retreated from the classroom at feverish speeds, moving like he was late for some very important occasion.

"W-w… where is Komoe-sensei? She should be back by now!" Seiri babbled, apparently attempting to divert the collective attentions of her fellow students onto herself, and away from an all too proud "Olivia-chan".

"Don't know," a young man responded.

"It is rather suspicious," a young woman remarked. "Maybe a search party should be formed? Maybe our sensei was kidnapped!"

Fukiyose Seiri's diversion attempt succeeded; the classroom's students began to debate the topic of their teacher's disappearance. Even the usually quiet Himegami Aisa joined the conversation, though she didn't make much conversational progress with anyone other than Seiri.

Then, an unknown variable joined the fray.

Seating themselves next to "Olivia-chan", they didn't even attempt to touch her. Whoever they were, they kept their distance. With their hands folded, they rested the extremities upon their pilfered desk's surface. Their right leg was crossed over their left, and their right foot bounced up and down repeatedly.

Such was fine by the golden-haired, one-eyed former Magic God. All the better that this individual understood the concepts of personal space and the meaning of the word "no".

"Ey. You alright? Guess the bastard really does have a thing for you."

"Perfectly fine. Please don't attempt to play the charming hero. I don't intend to be swept off my feet and carried into a castle to serve as a trophy wife."

"Heh. A fate I wouldn't want either. What woman would? Look, eight hundred yen a week and I'll keep the perverts off you. No drama."

Perhaps, if those exact words had been uttered by a burly Eastern European thug, "Olivia-chan" would've paid more mind to said words; this individual was neither burly nor of European descent, if looks were enough to go by. They looked to be Japanese, about as Japanese as Kamijou Touma, Fukiyose Seiri, and Himegami Aisa.

To boot, she wasn't even male, not that such a thing mattered. "Olivia-chan" knew from experience that a girl could easily put a boy on the ground. Fukiyose Seiri did it all the time.

Othinus had done it thousands of times, and she'd never forgive herself for it. Her mortal body would become frail and destroy itself before she'd forgive herself.

Standing only approximately five feet and a couple of inches, the girl was hardly anything impressive, at least physically. Of an average build, with a better than average bust size, which "Olivia-chan" felt herself becoming quite jealous of in the moment, her shoulder-length, honey-colored and equally honey-scented hair flowed neatly like a waterfall's currents. Her hair's fringe was parted in many sections while its bangs were neatly trimmed. Her eyes matched the color of her hair, strangely enough.

Her facial expression wasn't quite as elegant. Her brow was furrowed, her lips curled downwards into a scowl. Her knuckles were scarred and bloodied, her hands and arms dotted with visible veins.

Following a second short observation, "Olivia-chan" came to notice that the girl had rather toned arms, looking as if she regularly lifted weights, or perhaps regularly lifted some sort of heavy object, or objects.

"Is there a problem? You're awfully quiet. You don't need to take that shit from him. Fuck Aogami up, shove a broomstick in his rectum and make him squeak your name. Better yet, pay me to do it for you. Quick and clean. He won't squeal, I'll make sure of it. There are ways of keeping a person from snitching."

"You must be the life of the party."

The girl with the honey-colored, honey-scented hair leaned back in her pilfered seat. Folding her scar-dotted arms beneath her bosom, she produced a sigh, one ripe with aggravation.

"Fukiyose's got the right idea. You don't see him harassing her, do you? She asserts herself. Men are pigs that need to be controlled, Olivia. You assert yourself as a dominant force and they'll lick the ground you walk on."

She extended her hand in "Olivia-chan's" direction, tilting her head to one side and offering a nod.

"Shokuhou. Shokuhou Izanami."

Izanami's conversational partner took the hand extended out to her, briefly and briskly shaking the extremity.

"Olivia. Just… Olivia."

Just as an exhausted and spooked-looking Komoe re-entered the classroom, plopping herself down at her seat behind her desk, Shokuhou Izanami pulled her seat closer to the form of "Olivia-chan", and leaned in. Receiving the message, "Olivia-chan" leaned in as well, though not close enough to touch heads or accidentally invade the mysterious girl's personal space.

"If you don't think I have experience dealing with pigs, I do. Between you and I, I run a faction of sorts out of Tokiwadai. I've been whipping those fuckin' pretty little princesses into shape, got me a bad-ass assortment of battle-girls that can lay out the City's Skill Out population in a New York minute."

"And… you're telling me this why, exactly?"

Izanami clicked her tongue; she was acting like she'd said something that should've been universally understood by the entire world's populace.

"The way you disarmed Aogami is exactly the sort of thing I'm looking for."

"Is it? I don't believe I did all that much. I merely spooked him," "Olivia-chan" suggested.

Shokuhou Izanami offered an indifferent shrug.

"Not all strength comes in the fist, or in a baton or an esper ability. Some people can disarm a pig with their speech alone. You emasculated him, humiliated him and assured your place as the dominant individual in the situation. In essence, you're someone I can associate with. Like I said, eight hundred yen a week and I'm yours. You won't even have to raise a finger, because I'll break all of his."

Othinus took over. The visage of "Olivia-chan" was cast to the wind as Othinus tossed her head back, causing her own golden locks to flow. With either of her hands she brushed her bangs aside and fiddled with her hair's fringe.

"I've been told I'm skilled in the art of domineering. While your offer is appreciated, I don't think I'm in dire need of your services, Shokuhou-san."

"Suit yourself. I'll be around if you change your mind. While we're on the topic, did you know that there's a special section of the male testes one can kick or otherwise assault that ensures the victim in question will find themselves unable to procreate? Fairly useful for causing permanent damage, only reversible through expensive medical treatments."

The remainder of the school day passed "Olivia-chan", Seiri and Aisa by; once the bell rang and class was dismissed, the trio fled the classroom together, leaving their teacher, Komoe to drink from whatever she was carrying around with her in that paper bag.

By the time the three had concluded their business at their respective lockers, each accompanying the other, the trio managed to leave the middle-high school proper behind in a rather timely manner. It was only some few minutes after three o'clock in the afternoon by the time they'd nearly left the grounds completely.

Then, something caught Himegami Aisa's eye.

She came to a grinding halt before one of many lampposts which flanked the cobbled walkway leading to and from the middle-high school.

"Eh?" Seiri inquired, coming to a halt as well. She grabbed onto the hand of "Olivia-chan" and pulled her back; she'd nearly left her companions behind, so wrapped up in her own thoughts about the life, the world and the universe was she.

Being able to wonder about it at all was almost a blessing to the formerly omniscient being.

A confused Seiri spoke aloud, further prying "Olivia-chan" from her inner thoughts, as other students passed the trio by, paying little attention to the oddities in pamphlet form.

"What… what is this? Who is this? I'm… lost."

Fastened with wads of clear industrial tape to the lamppost and to lampposts beyond the first that Aisa had laid eyes on were a series of identical pamphlets. An expressionless paper bag with human eyes jutting out from two holes cut into its surface, a human neck and human shoulders beneath it stared the girls down. Above and below the paper bag person's form, written text was scrawled.

" _No more Lies, Secrecy and Oppression. Solidarity with the Sons of Taured."_

" _Find us. Liberate Your Mind from the Chains of Oppressive Tyrants. Oseltaeb."_

Fukiyose Seiri looked quizzically at the pamphlet, like it was the perpetrator of some heinous crime rather than an innocuous paper construct. She raised an eyebrow and produced a soft, curious-sounding "hmph."

"… this looks like propaganda," Aisa stated, clearly and simply. She leaned in for a closer look.

"… wearing an article of clothing that obscure's one's face doesn't make one a reliable figurehead for any kind of movement… I suppose I'm saying that to the wrong people."

"Oseltaeb…. Oseltaeb… hmm… Esoltaeb? Beatleso? beatleso. be… at Leso?"

To say that both Fukiyose Seiri and Himegami Aisa found themselves feeling both confused and slightly concerned would be an understatement. The girls looked to one another and then expectantly looked to "Olivia-chan".

"Leso is a small island in Greece, only a few minutes' distance from the mainland," she elaborated.

Both Aisa and Seiri looked like they demanded further explanation. They weren't going to give up easily, evidently; the former tilted her head to one side while the latter placed her hands on her hips.

"I… erm, I studied Greece when I was… um, younger. It's a very interesting place full of interesting history and mythology. Therefore, it would make sense that I'd know such a trivial fact… hehe. Might the author of this pamphlet be urging interested individuals to visit this island? But, if so, then to what end?"

"Or, you could be reading way too deeply into this, Olivia-chan," Seiri spoke with a shrug of her shoulders. "Don't forget, the human mind is always looking for patterns so that it can try and make sense out of nonsense."

Himegami Aisa placed her arms around the shoulders of both "Olivia-chan" and Fukiyose Seiri, pulling them close to one another as she set her head on either of their touching shoulders.

"… I double dare someone to open it… Olivia-chan, I double dare you to open it."

"What if it contains anthrax?"

"That's not how anthrax works, Olivia-chan."

"… with all due respect, Olivia-chan, there're far more efficient ways to commit acts of terrorism…"

" _Oh. Don't you think for a second that I don't know that, Himegami. Terrorism is… was my specialty. Being a terrible person is another one of my specialties, in case you didn't know."_

Biting down on her lower lip, "Olivia-chan" proceeded to peel away multiple layers of the thick, clear tape, carrying wads of the sticky industrial strength adhesive to the nearest dustbin rather than littering. Fukiyose Seiri offered her friend a nod of approval.

After peeling away the final layer, the former Magic God caught the pamphlet in her open hands and opened it.

" _Magic,"_

" _Magic Side,"_

" _Necessarius,"_

" _Annihilatus,"_

" _God's Right Seat,"_

" _GREMLIN,"_

" _Index Librorum Prohibitorum, "Slave", "Victim of Systemic Oppression,"_

" _Rise up. The Sons of Taured await with open arms and hearts bleeding with anger."_

What Othinus read was horrifying, bone-chilling, petrifying. The implications were staggering and the reality was slowly beginning to dawn on her like the sun's rays within a clear morning's sky.

Someone was knowingly disturbing the balance, regardless of the grievous and overwhelming consequences of doing so; the author even acknowledged such consequences.

They were trying to incite Armageddon. An unrestrained global conflict between scientific and magical factions would be the end. Who in their right mind would want to unleash World War Four?

"I don't know, Himegami. It's like something from one of those crazy cults. What's all this about "Magic Gods?" Are they a doomsday cult? Plenty of those out there. For instance, just last week, even… hey, Olivia-chan?! Where are you going?"

The pamphlet laid crumpled upon the cobbled walkway's surface. Himegami Aisa and Fukiyose Seiri looked on before they began to follow behind their companion, exercising minor reluctance. The former picked up the crumpled pamphlet before carefully pocketing it.

* * *

February 7th, 2004. 3:16 PM.

Kamijou Touma looked to Kumokawa Seria, who'd arrived with she and Touma's drinks some time prior to the present moment they'd found themselves in. She smiled at him and he smiled back.

Even in the relative darkness of Club Orange, with so many shades of near-overwhelmingly bright colors dancing across her skin, even if Kamijou Touma could barely see her with these visual distractions, she was still so stunningly beautiful. The longer he looked into her eyes, the more Seria's blush deepened.

Despite their mutual attraction, both Touma and Seria kept an eye on Musujime Awaki who was visible within the crowds, having found a male dance partner who seemed confident enough to hold his own in the presence of the level five candidate.

Over the thumping of house music senpai and kohai spoke in hushed tones. In her right hand Kumokawa Seria had taken Kamijou Touma's icy left.

"I'm not going to try and stop you, Senp… Seria. If you feel comfortable venturing into a situation like the one that snake is trying to drag me into, then who am I to question that? It's your decision to make."

"Whether I feel comfortable or not is a matter that is irrelevant, my little kohai. I refuse to risk losing you again."

"I… I appreciate that. I don't want to lose you again either. That's not the problem here though, I don't think it is at least."

Kumokawa Seria raised an eyebrow, then looked down at the crumpled pamphlet. The paper bag man's empty eyes stared back at her.

For a split second, Kumokawa Seria thought she saw the eyes of the paper bag man follow her own. Surely such a thing must've been a trick of her imagination.

Then again…

"It's this less-than-mysterious "balance" I've heard so much about then?" She softly inquired.

Touma nodded in affirmation.

"Yeah. Science and magic are supposed to stay as separate entities."

Seria produced a huff. "As I've heard."

"Both sides seem to be doing a shit job at achieving that separation. Look, Seria, can I borrow your phone? I'll call a buddy of mine, met him through the old man but he's a good guy, trustworthy. He's like me, he's using them. If you know the name "Keitz Nokleben", he's one of Nokleben's buddies. My guy's in on the whole science-magic thing. Name's Dave, he's…"

"Horton?"

"Eh?"

Kumokawa Seria leaned back and took a sip from her drink, just as a group of casually-dressed young men passed her by. They paid her little more than a series of approving glances and continued on their way, though one offered her a friendly smile, one which she briefly returned.

"David Horton, an agent with the Oculus, is this the individual you're speaking of?"

"Yeah. Dave Horton, Oculus G-man, hit that Skill Out holdout recently with the snake. Maybe you saw it on the news if you keep up. You've met?"

"I've worked with the Oculus and Horton-san in the past," Seria stated, taking another sip from her drink. Touma continued to look down at his own. Mere ice water, fragments of frozen water floated within the liquefied substance like little boats on a wide ocean. "I wasn't aware he knew of magic. Every day is a school day, hm, my kohai? But, where are my manners? Here, my phone. The password is Slluks."

Kamijou Touma tapped that very password when he was prompted to, and unlocked the extremely expensive-looking device. Its screen alone was likely worth more than his dorm.

"Nice phone," Touma remarked, awkwardly chuckling under his breath. In response, Seria offered her kohai a warm and equally genuine smile. She tightened her grip on Touma's left hand ever so slightly before she raised the extremity to her lips and placed a kiss to it.

After figuring out how to navigate to the phone's calling app, Touma dialled in the required series of digits and raised the phone to his ear.

Buuuzzzzz, buuuzzzzz, buuuzzzzz. Buuuzzzzz, buuuzzzzz, buuuzzzzz. Buuuuuuzzzzzzzzzz.

"Oculus Recon Department branch five fifty-six. Agent David Horton speaking. Identify yourself."

"Woah Davey, relax. It's me, Kamijou."

On the other end of the line, a nervous, if relieved-sounding chuckle was vocalized. The clacking of keys could be heard, and the clicking of computer mice accompanied the metallic, electronic tabernacle.

"S-sorry. We're under a lot of pressure, with the Project going better than expected, we…"

"And therefore, you're even more paranoid than you would be if everything was blowing up in your face from all sides."

"Right."

The old Yank sounded like absolute shit.

Kamijou Touma could only silently offer the acne-riddled man his silent sympathies. His voice was deep and commanding, but there was a hint of weakness to it, as if old Davey just wanted to go to sleep and never wake up.

Touma offered Seria a smile as he raised his own glass to his lips. For the first time in over a month, Kamijou Touma took a sip from a glass and allowed a liquid substance to enter his new body.

Placing the glass down, Touma leaned back in his seat, while he ensured that Kumokawa Seria could continue holding his hand.

"The Project is going to have to go on hold, Davey. We've got a situation and it's not going to be pretty if we let it get out of hand. The Oculus shouldn't get involved, but you should. You're, erm, special."

David Horton produced a sigh. His keyboard ceased to clack, though others around him continued from where he'd left off.

"The Oculus at large are aware. Gladio spilled the beans. More of Academy City's faculties are figuring it out for themselves or are being outright told everything... are there not people that exist to deal with this sort of thing? The Project can't be put on hold, not when we're this close."

"Apparently, nobody else is trying to do anything about this, so as usual it falls to people like you and me."

"As always. Worthless establishment," Horton grumbled.

"Have you seen any of these… weird fuckin' pamphlets? They're all over the walls in this club, Davey."

"You're at a club?! Well, that explains the noise. Let me guess, with a girl? Teenagers… yes, I've seen the fucking pamphlets Kamijou, but what're we going to do about it? Let the Project fall to the wayside while we do some incompetent's job?"

"Davey, what if I told you that a potential future level five read one of these things? What if I told you that they're full of incriminating shit, talking about… them? Necessarius? Annihilatus? Fucking God's Right Sea…"

"Kamijou for Christ's sake, pipe down about that! Which one?! Takitsubo? No, couldn't be her. In witness protection with the boy…"

"Musujime," Touma stated.

"Shit. Shit! Fucking Musujime? How much does she know?! Fucking Necessarius degenerates! If they didn't have their collective heads stuffed inside of their collective rectums… shit!"

Touma placed his drink back down upon the table's surface. There was an odd aftertaste to the stuff.

"She knows enough. Musujime doesn't believe any of it but that could change. Davey, look here. There's apparently a sketchy market that… fuckin' Tsuchimikado's investigating, of course someone… someone close to me and me, we both ended up involved. District four, get there. We might need someone who can book people and keep them locked up, if that's what needs to be done."

"Right… shit! Dammit. Shit! Someone's trying to get us all killed Kamijou."

The line went quiet, and then Seria's phone began to produce a series of soft buzzes. David Horton had hung up his Oculus-issued smartphone, evidently.

"Babe," Touma remarked, before he realized what he'd vocalized. "Uh… sorry. My bad Seria. Don't know where that came from."

Seria produced a soft giggle. "I don't mind at all, my little kohai. Call me cute little pet name whenever you want. What is it?"

"What are we going to do about Musujime?" Touma inquired, leaning forward, his voice dropping even further into a whisper.

Seria mimed, leaning forward as well; both remained inconspicuous enough. Seria placed her nose against her kohai's and moved about, as if she was attempting to emulate the movements of someone who was engaging with another in a kissing session.

"This place could be under surveillance for all we know, maybe they're looking out for people who take interest in their pamphlets? Could be a recruiting tactic, or something else entirely. I don't want to take a chance."

"Your concern is justified, Touma-kun."

"I'm no magician, I can't track mana, can you?"

Seria shook her head, no. "As far as I'm aware, my kohai, those who've experienced the effects of the Power Curriculum will have some kind of violent internal clash if they attempt to wield magic or "refine mana", whatever that may mean. So, no, unfortunately."

"Shit," Touma cursed. "Musujime could be in some deep shit. Wouldn't know what to expect from magicians either, I sure didn't when I first met them. Have I ever told you that story? Probably not. Another day. Shouldn't she at least know what she might've involved herself in?

"The pamphlets could have some sort of fucked up magic in them, maybe runes or something. Hell, they could've been made using magic, alchemy… Tsuchimikado ever tell you about all this stuff? Probably not. Magic can do some crazy things. She probably won't believe us… wait."

Kumokawa Seria raised an eyebrow, just as she moved even closer to her kohai. She had questions of her own, but Seria was more than willing to wait.

Even if he was no longer "human", he still certainly smelled very, very good. It was a scent that was almost intoxicating.

Persuaded to do so by her flawed human body, Seria placed a kiss to Touma's lips. Once, twice and then a third time, the coppery taste left behind was bitter, yet quite sweet, almost like the sensation of a sour gummy placed against her tongue.

"I've never been through the Power Curriculum. Not in this body. I'm not even a level zero, I'm not even an esper… not even human. I wonder… Beauty-Senpai… I mean, Seria, do you think… do you think I could use magic? If we showed Musujime that, she'd believe us. She'd know what to expect and she could protect herself… even if I couldn't, Tsuchimikado or Karasuma could probably show her something. I don't know how to refine mana, or if I even can but I'm sure that I could figure it out for myself."

Kumokawa Seria had forced herself to lean back. She was about to lose herself and begin kissing her kohai's lips right there and then. Seria gave her head a shake, trying to rescue her mind from the depths of the gutter.

" _Your selflessness shines through once more, my little kohai. That selflessness has resulted in you being taken advantage of more than 'too often'. Combined with that confidence, though; that could be a deadly combination to use against problematic individuals who would manipulate and string you along. It's hardly a wonder that you're so popular with the opposite sex."_

"If you want to attempt it I won't attempt to stop you from doing so. I will say this: what did I tell you about you remaining you, even after what you suffered through?"

"The last thing I want is for another person to be unwittingly dragged into Hell. If Musujime's going to find herself involved she should know about this, about everything. It's a system shock, isn't it?"

"You don't want to believe, initially," Seria elaborated. In response, Touma nodded his head affirmatively. "It's the queerest thing."

After Touma rose from his seat and pushed said seat in, ensuring that it wouldn't become bothersome to hypothetical individuals who might've bumped into or otherwise tripped over the piece of furniture, he looked to his senpai for a moment.

With Musujime Awaki in sight, and the reality that she could vanish from sight in a matter of a split second having dawned upon him, Kamijou Touma knew he didn't have much time to play games. If she could teleport herself, she could be nearly anywhere in the blink of an eye.

"Seria. Just because I'm trying to help someone out, just because they're… y'know, a girl, don't think that I'm trying to… I'm not trying to make you feel like you're a… like you're something temporary, if that makes sense. You're not. I'm sorry everything started ended up going like this. When I told you I loved you, I meant it, and I still mean it."

"You don't have to switch gears into the defensive, Touma-kun, not in my presence. I love you too and I understand your thought process."

"Shit. I mean fuck. Davey's rubbing off on me. This always happens, normality one minute and insanity the next. I guess Imagine Breaker wasn't always to blame, huh…? I don't think I told you about that either. Long story, there. Another day. At least half of today went alright, right? Chins up."

"I understand," Seria spoke calmly, in a reassuring tone of voice. "I promise that I understand the circumstances. You're correct of course; we've got to be appreciative of the opportunities we're given."

There'd been a time when Kumokawa Seria would've been lying to her kohai's face; she would've been scheming behind the collective backs of many, plotting the collective downfalls of his many female admirers.

It was her kohai's month-long disappearance that'd changed everything. The pain had burnt away the bitterness and the calculating desire.

It was the cold, lonely nights that Kumokawa Seria spent weeping out of worry and out of lethargic sorrow that'd changed her.

She'd never forget the long, fruitless, maddening searches, the hundreds of dead-end calls she'd made or the number of times she'd punched the walls of her apartment, screaming aloud in pain and frustration.

He was with her. Kamijou Touma knew who "Kumokawa Seria" was to him once more, he was willing to bring the past they'd shared into the future, one which he would accompany her in, and Seria wasn't about to let the boy who was no longer a boy out of her sight.

Not again.

First, it was the madness in Eastern Europe. Then it was the period in which the term "Agitate Halation" was relevant. Then, it was whatever the insanity that'd unfolded during the previous winter months could've been called.

Too many times had Kumokawa Seria nearly lost Kamijou Touma.

The two closed the distance between themselves and Musujime Awaki, who'd managed to out-dance her male partner. Retreating from the floor, he stumbled awkwardly up one of four staircases, and just barely managed to seat himself at one of the very few empty tables.

"Musujime," Touma called out. He received one or two awkward glances, though Touma repaid those who glanced at him with an aggressive, no-nonsense glare, one which shut those around him down almost instantaneously.

The auburn-haired beauty moved towards Kamijou Touma, swaying her hips seductively in sync with the rhythm of the music blaring throughout Club Orange.

"The mack returns," Awaki spoke, tossing her head to one side; her hair's fringe flowed like it'd been carried by the currents of a light breeze. "Who's your friend?"

"Kumokawa Seria," Awaki's newfound conversational partner stated. Folding her arms beneath her exceedingly ample bosom, Seria offered Awaki the warmest and most genuine smile she could manage. "It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance."

Instincts struggled with desire and Seria detected the faintest hints of competitiveness creeping up on her from within, clawing at the inner walls of her higher mind and loudly demanding release.

She wouldn't allow it to happen. Not in such a casual situation.

"Huh," Awaki muttered. She moved towards the nearest staircase, ascending it as Seria and Touma followed behind.

The lower section of Awaki's exceedingly short dress rose as gravity's perverted side was shown off for both Kumokawa Seria and Kamijou Touma to witness firsthand. Her lower undergarment could hardly be classed as such; it was even thinner than a G-string.

"Holy freakin' Freemasonry occult sex hotline… don't think I needed to see that. Just going to delete that… better."

Seria drew close, whispering into her kohai's ear as the two ascended the nearest section of steps leading out from the expansive and almost absurdly crowded dancefloor.

"Maybe I'll wear something of the sort for you, my little kohai. All you have to do is ask."

"I'm asking, Beauty-Senpai."

"Consider it done."

Awaki looked Kumokawa Seria up and down for a moment before she clicked her tongue, her right eyebrow raised.

"You ought to have the right to know, I wager. The pervert Tsuchimikado pretty much described you as being a sadistic dictator."

"That hardly surprises me," Seria grumbled, more to herself than to anyone around her. The vocalization was loud enough for at least the two other individuals gathered around her to hear. "Are you aware that Tsuchimikado- _san_ is also a liar, a cheat and a breaker of knees?"

Tossing her hair's fluffy fringe to one side, Awaki shrugged.

"Yup. I work with the pervert, after all. More on the real, not really getting those kinds of vibes from you; you seem chill. What's the story? Are you the heeeee~rooooo's girlfriend? Something more casual? Color me curious. Speaking of curiosity… 'somethin' you needed? Questions, questions everywhere."

"Something like that," Seria cryptically stated.

Touma comically placed his arm around his senpai's waist for a moment before he removed it.

"No strings on me. It's not really like that, but… it's complicated. Well, not really. Look, not trying to impose here, but… shit. I mean fuck, look, come with me. Us, I mean. Come with us for a minute? It's about the pamphlet."

"If you're going to try and convince me to join your New Age fertility cult, forget it. This womb is off limits."

Touma looked to his senpai, who could only shrug as if to say "who knows?" and then back to Musujime Awaki, who raised an eyebrow and leaned forward.

"What…? Fertility… cult? No, shit, we're not part of any cult. It's important, your safety could be in jeopardy. Can you please just stick with us, Musujime? There could be a lot more to this than meets the eye."

Awaki offered Kamijou Touma an awkward, if tolerant glance. In response, he offered Musujime Awaki a confident grin, one which struck quite the cord; had he always been such a confident young man? Certainly, Awaki assumed this surely must've always been the case, especially considering that he'd shown up to the scene of a fight between two teleporters, one in which the third-ranked level five in Academy City was involved.

"It's no wonder the lolicon calls you a "goddamn hero". I seriously don't see what the big deal is. Just some crazies promoting… something. It reads like the prologue for someone's fantasy novel. Someone with a wild imagination and too much time on their hands dreamed this all up, Kamijou-san. The thought's a nice one, but there's just nothing to worry about. Chill out, have a good time."

" _If only I had Imagine Breaker… we could find out if the pamphlets were made using magic. Then again, Musujime would probably just think an esper did it. Fuck. You're not going to be able to take care of yourself if you have no idea what you're going up against. Musujime, just… listen!_

" _SUBJECT: "IMAGINE BREAKER" NOT CURRENTLY DETECTED IN RELEVANT SECTION OF PLANETARY ATMOSPHERE. REATTEMPTING SEARCH. HIGHMIND TERMINAL:/ FAILURE. REATTEMPTING SEARCH._

" _Just shut up._

" _HIGHMIND TERMINAL:/ ACKNOWLEDGED. CONTINUING PASSIVE QUICK AND THREAT SCAN PROTOCOLS."_

Touma took a few steps closer. For a moment, Awaki looked as if she was about to slide into a defensive position. When he halted, the edge about her seemed to smoothen.

He took another, and then moved his lips close to Move Point's ear, leaning in as far as he could without invading her personal space more than he felt he had to.

"Musujime, if I told you that there's an entire sick, fucked up world that nobody knows about, one that's completely underground, something that only a small group of individuals worldwide know about, what would you think about that? If I told you that magic is completely real, and that there are magicians all over the place, what would you think about that? If I told you there was a delicate balance between our 'world', the scientific one, and the other 'world', the magical one?"

Awaki leaned in just as closely, while Seria essentially made the moment something of a 'huddle up'.

Move Point and the 'brain' of Kaizumi Tsugutoshi had to silently admit to themselves that the scent of the other was quite pleasing to their respective senses. Kamijou Touma didn't have a scent that smelled all that bad, either.

"The first thing I'd be asking for is proof, Kamijou-san."

"I really don't blame you there. I'd be asking for the same, Musujime."

"A claim as outlandish as that needs proof to back it up. Overwhelming mountains of proof. The second thing I'd be asking is, if this "Other Side" is so secretive, then why are there pamphlets scattered all over Academy City of all places that, if you're telling me the truth, would expose everything and disrupt the "balance"? That seems counterproductive to me."

Touma produced a soft, if exasperated sigh before he spoke his piece.

"I don't have the answer to that second question, I just don't have a conclusive answer. It could be some sort of internal civil war for all I know. It's not safe to talk about this sort of thing all willy-nilly like this. Look, Musujime-san, if I promised that I'd give you that very sort of proof if you accompanied my senpai and I, what would you say to that, Musujime?"

"He's telling the truth," Seria insisted, moving in just a bit closer. Kumokawa Seria held herself casually, occasionally looking over either of her shoulders and smiling warmly at passersby to construct a friendly, tensionless façade of some sort; some protection, no matter how meager was better than no protection at all.

"As… as completely demented as it all sounds, Move Point, my kohai tells the truth. Have you seen any other instances of these propaganda-riddled pamphlets in the wild?"

"Yup. They're all over the mall. They're even in the bathrooms, at least on this level… hold it, question here. If this is some major internal conspiracy on a presumably international level, one which Academy City is involved in, then why aren't these pamphlets being taken down?"

Musujime Awaki looked at Kamijou Touma and Kumokawa Seria for a moment, skepticism clearly etched into the features of her facial expression.

They both seemed so legitimate. That boy's facial expression was full to the brim with concern, and the "Beauty-Senpai" she'd heard so much about seemed to be anything but a tyrannical, scheming serpent out for her own gain. She was clearly better at masking her emotions than Kamijou Touma, but that meant very little.

If the former had any reason to want her dead, he wouldn't have called an ambulance for her all that time ago, during her conflict with the half-assed teleporter. The period of time in which that half-assed Tokiwadai princess teleporter was a relevant individual was proof enough for Musujime Awaki.

"Musujime?"

"Fine. This is weirding me right out, but… I'll give you the chance. I owe you that much, Kamijou."

"You don't "owe" me anything. I didn't… I mean, I don't help people expecting favors in return. If I've got your back, I've got your back. That's it, no strings."

Musujime Awaki certainly noticed Kumokawa Seria's approving smile. Her cheeks were tinged a slight shade of red, even as she stood tall and confident, like a ruler looking upon her subjects not as inferiors, but as equals.

Just how was Kumokawa Seria supposed to be a "tyrant", again? Move Point would have to press the Backstabbing Blade about that, later.

"Just let me grab a change of clothes," Awaki spoke. "Not trying to get catcalled here."

Within the blink of an eye, Musujime Awaki vanished from sight, leaving behind only empty space where she'd been standing. Her form, when it had been present, produced a short, quiet 'shweesh' sound, one which seemed to send a shiver down Seria's spine.

"Seria," Touma muttered as he took a seat before a nearby table, "you think we lost her? I seriously hope she didn't run on us. What are we going to do about everyone else who's here? What if they read from the pamphlets, too? I don't even know if they're harmless, or what…"

"My little kohai," Seria spoke, softly and comfortingly, taking a seat in the luxurious chair next to Touma's, "don't lose yourself to anxiousness, if that's indeed what's happening. Get it together. You won't accomplish anything if you begin panicking. I know from experience."

She gently and harmlessly slapped her kohai across the face. As a small group of young people passed her by, Kumokawa Seria produced a faux-giggle.

The gambit paid off, and the passersby were thrown off the trail, returning to their own business as they increased the distance between themselves, Kumokawa Seria and Kamijou Touma.

"Get it together, Touma-kun. Pick up the pieces."

"Thanks. I needed that. I'm being serious, sometimes it takes a classic ol' conk in the noggin to get you thinking right."

"You're welcome, Touma-kun."

"Okay, look, data's telling me that there's a thirty-eight percent chance that Musujime bailed. That still leaves us with a sixty-two percent chance that she's coming back. Not too sure where it's getting these estimates from but I've learned to trust it, sometimes. It's usually right."

"… data?"

Touma produced a soft chuckle. He leaned forward and took Kumokawa Seria's hands into his own. If the moment had been one which was less tense, Seria certainly would've been blushing.

"I don't work the way most people understand it. I don't have to "think" about things. I have the answers to almost everything that anyone could ever wonder about. It scans the environment around me, my body that is, and it gives me answers."

"Does that allow you to read minds, then?" Seria inquired. She looked, and, internally, was genuinely curious.

"Can't read minds but I can come pretty close – scan thought patterns and such. Gives me an advantage over most. One problem: it doesn't know shit about…

Kamijou Touma's voice dropped to an all-time low, barely a whisper.

"… magic."

Seria managed to detect the vocalization, processed it and nodded in understanding. Her kohai certainly was different. But that didn't matter. Different or not, Kamijou Touma was still Kamijou Touma.

To the surprise of both Kamijou Touma and to the considerable relief of Kumokawa Seria, Musujime Awaki returned, materializing some feet away from the two.

Her kohai had to worry no longer. Not about that, at least.

Clad in the long-sleeved jacket and the almost absurdly small pleated skirt of Kirigaoka Girls' Academy, Musujime Awaki's impressive legs were clad in thin, skin-tight stockings that not only accented, but also highlighted their natural curve. Her buckled flats were simplistic, but stylish enough to fit with the overall motif of Awaki's outfit of choice. Trailing down her back and along her shoulders, her thin twintails held their own against gravity's oppressive pull. Apparently, simply out of desire, Move Point showed some few inches of cleavage, leaving both Kamijou Touma and Kumokawa Seria to freely speculate within the confines of their own respective minds as to why she chose to do so.

"What did I tell you, hm?" Seria rhetorically implored, leaning forward and resting her chin in her palm's hand. Balancing her elbow against the table's surface she offered her kohai a grin. Under her breath, Seria whispered.

"For someone of your distinction, you still seem to worry quite a bit… making assumptions and attempting to predict the outcome of future events is a pastime best reserved for the mentally ill and the logically challenged. Don't be afraid to speak about your worries to those who care for you. Like myself."

Touma failed to suppress a light chuckle. "I guess you're right, aren't you? I'll keep that in mind, thanks Seria."

"Of course I'm right, my little kohai. You're more than welcome."

Rising from his seat, Kamijou Touma waved a hand in Musujime Awaki's direction. Producing a short huff, Kumokawa Seria rose as well.

Into her own thoughts, she retreated.

A part of her was terrified. Another part was excited.

Just what sort of insanity was she about to face, head-on? She knew of magic, sure, but the most fundamental of basic facts hardly counted as any sort of useful knowledge. Knowing of something and knowing _about_ something were two different elements entirely.

The surging, crashing and twisting waves of excitement were present only due to the fact that Kumokawa Seria knew her kohai would not have to face the trials and tribulations of whatever laid ahead on his own, as he had in the past.

He would never face anything alone again. Seria would make damn sure that she stuck to her silent, mentally-uttered word. Hoarding Kamijou Touma, an apparently newfound free spirit to herself was impossible and irrelevant. It would only serve to create distance.

If only Kumokawa Seria had come to realize such things before. Instead, it'd taken a month of unbelievable agony to awaken her.

As Musujime Awaki and Kamijou Touma began to exchange words, stepping out from within the darkened Club Orange and into the Dianoid's halls themselves, Seria vowed that there was only one individual she would do her absolute best to keep away from him.

One manipulative, starry-eyed, honey-scented problem with more size in her bosom than in her brain. Perhaps she could be reasoned with?

From left to right Musujime Awaki looked, tilting her neck from one side and to the other. She repeatedly looked over her shoulders as she, Kamijou Touma and Kumokawa Seria left the vicinity of Club Orange. Seria walked at her kohai's side with his hand taken protectively into her own. No matter what, she would never let him go.

As the three passed by a collection of pamphlets taped to a nearby pillar, situated adjacent to another, with a series of benches between them, Touma thought he saw many sets of eyes follow in their direction, turning inside of their respective two-dimensional heads.

Upon looking directly at the sets of eyes, they seemed to have not moved at all. They continued to stare straight and outwards, the many paper bag men looking as if they stood at attention.

Kamijou Touma looked to Musujime Awaki. With considerable confidence, she strode, hips swaying from one side to the other as she walked.

"Something wrong, Musujime? You good?"

"Yeah. Good enough I guess, but this whole thing is weirding me right out. At this point I'm waiting for a camera guy to jump out from behind a wall. You're not messing with me, right? Please tell me you're not messing with me."

"No," Touma stated with considerable firmness. "Nobody's pulling your leg, Musujime."

"And that's a real shame, because I like it rough."

Kumokawa Seria raised an eyebrow at that. Kamijou Touma deigned to keep things professional.

"Let's focus, Musujime. I'm no prude, but there's a time and a place for everything."

With a nonchalant shrug, Awaki let the topic fall to the wayside. For this, Kumokawa Seria was quite grateful. It was obvious that Kamijou Touma intended to keep his word.

Of course he was going to. For a moment, Seria felt considerable remorse for thinking even for a second that he wasn't going to. Her hand's grip on her kohai's tightened as she smiled to herself.


	15. A Crossing of Lines

February 7th, 2004. 3:59 PM.

"… Shiage?"

"Oi, Rikou."

"… look."

" _POSITIVE"_

"WHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAT?!"

* * *

February 7th, 2004. 4:10 PM.

Misaka Mikoto couldn't stop thinking about it. Her Sister, that boy who was no longer a boy, no long even human, involved with the likes of Kihara Gensei. After all of the time that had passed, he was still out there. Academy City was still doing those horrid things.

Why did it always have to be the innocent who were targeted?

Even as she watched Saten Ruiko, Uiharu Kazari and Shirai Kuroko politick about whatever it was they'd chosen to politick about, Mikoto just couldn't seem to get it out of her head. Her thoughts rebelled and her higher mind refused to cooperate with her demands.

It hadn't helped that Shokuhou had brought the subject up again.

Within the confining safety of she and Kuroko's room in the Tokiwadai Dormitory, a place that was well beyond the harmful reach of crazed individuals such as Kihara Gensei, Kihara Yuiitsu, and any Kihara, for that matter, at least as far as the Railgun was concerned, there was fear, or perhaps anxiousness.

Maybe It was a mere, slight sense of unease rather than a crippling sense of terror.

Mikoto felt disconnected from herself.

A hand tapped fell onto the Railgun's shoulder. Rather than mockingly tapping it with a single finger, the hand's palm came to rest, its fingers and its thumb tightening, though not quite enough to cause the third-ranked level five any sort of physical discomfort.

"You're thinking too much again, aren't you, Misaka-san?"

"Yeah."

The seat beneath one of the ornate, stained glass windows of room two hundred and eight, which offered a view of and overlooked the secondary, rear-facing promenade of the Dormitory was occupied by two of Academy City's highest-ranked espers. Number three and number five.

"Then stop. Is it that difficult?"

"You wouldn't believe."

"Oh, but I would, Misaka-san. It can be a slippery slope, but there's always the option to grapple on and pull yourself back up."

What was her game? Why was Shokuhou being so kind lately? She wouldn't do so without fulfilling some sort of dark, hidden agenda. There was just no chance. Shokuhou had to be up to something. Misaka Mikoto wasn't going to let herself fall into the spider's web for even a moment because if she fell in it was very likely that she wasn't going to find her way out.

But she _seemed_ to have changed, genuinely, for the better. It _seemed_ to be so real.

Why didn't Misaka Mikoto want to admit that Shokuhou Misaki had changed? What was wrong with her? Why was her brain so completely and utterly fucked? How could someone like 'him' be "in love" with someone like 'her'? She was a walking, breathing, talking biological mess on two legs. The Railgun wanted to bash her head against a wall until she stopped breathing. She wanted to cry and she wanted to scream.

"Shokuhou."

"Misaka-san?"

"What are you playing at? Why are you being so nice to me? To us?"

Shokuhou Misaki raised a glove-clad finger to her lower lip, her golden, starry eyes twinkling beneath rays of sunlight whose coloration matched the color of her eyes, and even of her long, flowing hair.

"Why wouldn't I be?"

"Don't play innocent. You've never associated with us before. You rarely leave your dorm at all, now you're… going all over the place. Jogging, for crying out loud! You never jog! PE classes now, too?! What's with you?! I'll get to the bottom of it if it KILLS me!"

Mikoto leaned forward, as her three friends looked in her own direction, and Shokuhou Misaki. Mikoto looked towards the hardwood flooring beneath she and Misaki's dangling, stocking-clad feet.

"You should hate me after what he said to me. You should hate me for the way I'm treating you right now."

"Nonsense. All I'd like is for him to be happy, Misaka-san. If that happiness is found with you, and with others, if a polygamous romance is what he truly seeks, then so be it. As it stands, the possibility of such a narrative unfolding with… me… I feel that I have my part to play. As for your behavior, I've been subjected to worse. It's hardly a bother."

"Where is all of this COMING FROM? Shokuhou, did someone stick you with a personality-changing… needle… thing?! I'm not even making sense! GAH! Get it together, Mikoto!"

Shrugging either of her shoulders and looking undauntedly in the direction of the concerned-seeming Shirai Kuroko, Saten Ruiko, and Uiharu Kazari, Shokuhou Misaki produced a long, soft sigh. Despite the obvious melancholy in the vocalization, Misaki smiled thinly.

"Some of us need a wake-up call. Our home's fall into anarchy and our conflict against the powers that were was that call for me. The Elements, the faction referring to itself as "Useful Spider", such matters forced me to confront realities I'd previously never considered. Everything else suddenly seemed so petty. Small. Insignificant. I see now the greater picture."

"That makes two of us," Mikoto interjected.

"Your near-death experience was a wake-up call for me, Misaka-san."

"… eh?"

"It, too, forced me to confront many matters I would've preferred to have left alone. Yet that couldn't have been, you see.

"As it's inevitable for a butterfly to emerge from its cocoon and take flight, it's equally inevitable for us, human beings, as intelligent, sentient individuals to emerge from one of many such cocoons and spread our newfound wings."

Rising, Misaka Mikoto leaned back in her seat and stretched, her shoulders shuddering as her toes unconsciously wiggled within their stockings. The Railgun's eyes opened once more after her short exercise, and they peered into Shokuhou Misaki's glossy, starry pupils as well as the glowing, golden irises behind them.

"Shokuhou? I apologize. I'm… sorry. I've been doing that a lot lately, ask Saten-san. It's surreal, that's all. These last few weeks, ever since I was discharged actually, now that I mention it, it's like… it's like you've been my best friend for my whole life."

"As I've said, I should be the one engaging in the acts of apology. I don't believe I need to explain my reasoning."

"No. You don't."

Mikoto awkwardly placed an arm around the shoulders of Shokuhou Misaki; Saten Ruiko, witnessing the display of goodwill out of the corner of her eye smiled at both of the level fives, and they both smiled back.

"We all do things we regret, Shokuhou. We think things we regret sometimes, too. I still feel like telling you about what he said was a dickish thing to do, but what was _I_ going to do? Just… not tell you? After you'd spilled your guts like that? I still… Shokuhou. I didn't know."

"How were you supposed to, hm? I couldn't have simply told you via telepathy, after all. That Electro-Barrier of yours, Misaka-san, it truly is quite the drag."

"You're a fuckin' drag."

"My, my; language, Misaka-san~!"

"We'll figure something out. This is Academy City; we'll make them find a way… you know what? He might be at home. Maybe he'll be able to remember you now? It's worth a shot. I'm game if you're game. Let's knock it off, just talking about it off and on. Let's actually do it. I think that's where he ended up after he left campus, at home that is… ugh, he's such an Idiot sometimes, Shokuhou, I swear. Showing up like that, the way he is? If anyone figured him out…"

Shokuhou Misaki leaned in close, nearly pressing her honey-scented lips to the ear of Misaka Mikoto.

"Misaka-san. He confessed to you. From what you've told me, he poured his own heart out. The way you described the moment was… spine-chilling. Boys don't cry for just anyone. I want Kamijou Touma to have nothing but happiness in his life."

"So do I!" Mikoto hissed, a bit more aggressively than she'd intended. "I'm a fucking mess. My head's not on straight, I can't give him the kind of support he'd need. Not now, not like this."

"I think… I think that happiness would be found with you. You've been through so much with, more than I have. You know him better than I. I know an idealized boy who saved me from myself. You know Kamijou Touma, the person he is, what he likes and what he dislikes."

"That's a very mature thing to say."

She stood up, even though her legs felt more like jelly than functioning limbs. Misaka Mikoto wobbled, only for a moment before she regained her balance and shrugged the awkwardness of her own body off with as much effort as she could have exerted.

"Curfew's not for a while. Want to walk with me? It'll do you good, Shokuhou. Gotta get that back strong, help alleviate the pressure put on your spine by all that useless weight on your chest."

"Misaka-san!" Kazari exclaimed, jumping from her place upon Shirai Kuroko's bed. Saten Ruiko looked in Kazari's direction, only to let out a giggle as she rested her hand's fingers against her lips.

"It's not nice to say things of that sort about Shokuhou-Sama! Especially after she treated us to lunch!"

"It was a joke," Mikoto grumbled as she strode towards the door. Misaki failed to hold back her own soft chuckle.

"You see, Misaka-san is simply jealous because she hasn't quite developed in… some areas. Not anything you'd need to concern yourself about, Saten-san."

Looking in Ruiko's direction, the Mental Out user winked knowingly. The level zero's cheeks erupted into a bright, crimson blush.

"W-what? Me? Uh, well… w-what can I say? G-genetics were kind to me?"

"Shokuhou! Walk time! Hustle, hustle, hustle! We move NOW!"

Why was it always him? Why was it always him coming to her mind, into her conversations with the likes of that damn Shokuhou? Misaka Mikoto just couldn't seem to free herself from his grasp. Then again, she didn't particularly want to do so, anyways.

If only her head was working properly. She would've probably been at his side already.

Maybe she could find a way there. Maybe Mikoto could find her way to Touma's side so that she could fulfill her wishes.

Grabbing Shokuhou Misaki by her winter jacket's sleeve, Misaka Mikoto dragged the Mental Out user along, closing the dorm's door behind her.

* * *

Ruiko looked up from her smartphone and into the eyes of Shirai Kuroko. Then, she turned to her old friend, Uiharu Kazari, who could only shrug, as if to say "I don't know".

Kuroko rolled over onto her back, moving her arms and legs about over the sheets of Misaka Mikoto's bed.

"Onee-Sama has been acting strangely. Stranger than usual. I guarantee you it has something to do with that zoo animal; even Shokuhou-Sama seems to be in on it. Who's next?!"

"That's very mean," Kazari scolded, wagging her finger at a pouting Shirai Kuroko. Folding her arms across her chest, the level four teleporter stuck her nose in the air and produced a "hmph". "Shirai-san, you should get to know someone before you speak poorly of them. You haven't even met this person!"

Shirai Kuroko responded by pulling at either of Kazari's cheeks with her hands while explaining to her the exact sort of nature of her relationship with Misaka Mikoto, Kazari wailing aloud in pain the entire time as Ruiko watched on. If she'd been a character in a manga, she likely would've sweatdropped.

"She's right, you know," Ruiko eventually interjected. "Calling someone a "zoo animal" is… extreme. But here, check this out, both of you. This is really interesting. I stumbled onto this Urban Legend a couple of days ago, and, boy… developments abound!"

"Here we go," Kuroko muttered. Shaking her head, the teleporter's lips found themselves curling up into a grin, even against her own will. Leave it to Saten Ruiko to manage to force a smile's birth. Uiharu Kazari had simply rolled onto her stomach, bumping into her friend, resulting in both looking to one another and then suddenly giggling.

"I've dug up more stuff on the pamphlets that are all over the place. D3rksiderz has way more theories on it than my other haunts," Ruiko explained, running the tip of her finger over her smartphone's tempered glass touchscreen.

"According to one of these theories, right here…" Saten Ruiko pointed to a section of bolded text, followed by a much larger collection of additional text, barely-organized and sloppily presented in the form of a great wall. Kazari looked down as well, squinting in order to read the text, which had been typed with a considerably small font.

"BIIIIIT!"

Shirai Kuroko had teleported onto both of her companions, sprawling out atop either of them as she looked down at Saten Ruiko's phone.

Luckily for the younger girls, Shirai Kuroko's bodyweight was anything but heavy.

"There's apparently a connection between the Elements that were causing so much trouble and 'magic'. Even by my own standards, it seems too… unbelievable! An entire secret world?! A secret society like the Illuminati or Freemasonry is one thing but this, this goes beyond your average "lizard people rule the world" conspiracy!"

"Whoever's responsible," Shirai Kuroko began, stroking her chin with her right hand's index finger and thumb, "they're good at hiding. Judgment can't find even a single lead and Anti Skill is completely stumped. Uiharu-san and I have been pounding the pavement all week! Nothing! Rrrgh. So frustrating. Anti Skill thinks they might be a New Age movement of some sort. No signs of terrorism so far, but that could change. This could be a pre-emptive strike of sorts."

Saten Ruiko simply shook her head in response. Scrolling down further, the tip of her fingernail repeatedly clacking against the surface of her smartphone's touchscreen, her movements came to a final rest on the image of one of many mysterious pamphlets taped to the inside of a public transportation vehicle.

"None of this is New Age to me, Shirai-san. No mentions of crystal skulls or the Apocalypse anywhere in these pamphlets, just… Truthism? Is that a word? It is now! It's just like these guys are trying to reasonably and peacefully prove a point. There's something very different here!"

Shirai Kuroko felt a shiver travel down her spine. It brought a shudder to her shoulders and to her lower body before it passed and faded from existence, leaving the teleporter feeling quite chilled.

The paper bag man's eyes were cold and unfeeling. They practically stared into her very soul. They looked like they were trying to steal her very life essence from her.

"Look at this… this is… weird."

Shirai Kuroko was snapped out from her state of fear by Saten Ruiko's soft, concerned, and yet equally interested-sounding vocalizations. With a shake of her head, Kuroko was back in the game. She wouldn't allow herself to be so easily overpowered by something as simple as a stare from a two-dimensional portrait ever again.

All three of the girls read at once from the picture. It was a photograph of a pamphlet's inner pages, which were all that was visible within the frame of the picture that had been snapped.

" _ **ATTENTION:**_

" _Many thanks to a sympathizer who would prefer to remain unnamed for the following information! Many thanks to our WILLING and EXCITED participants who helped verify the authenticity of the information provided to us! Crooked Necessarius and Warmonger Academy City can't hold back the Sons of Taured, not now and not ever!_

" _Many of you who have been tuning into our weekly broadcasts may or may not be aware that we at the Sons of Taured have been progressively shedding more light onto the topic of the two worlds. For that we demand no thanks and no financial or moral aid; all we ask for is your vision for some moments. All we ask is that you perform a very basic human function: reading._

" _Magic vs Science: Reality or Puppetry?" was out first major essay on the topic, one which gained quite the heavy amount of attention on social media outlets – of course, the Lamestream Media was quick to lampoon us. Evidently, they too are either being CUCKED by Crooked Necessarius or have been threatened with death by Warmonger Academy City! As such, we've been receiving plenty of information from friendly folks on both sides of the spectrum! Never let anyone tell you that there isn't good in the world."_

Uiharu Kazari had taken to propping her chin up with either of her hands, while she repeatedly bounced her legs against the surface of Shirai Kuroko's bed.

"This is really interesting."

"This is sounding more and more like a propaganda piece," Kuroko retorted with a huff.

" _We at the Sons of Taured won't be hiding anything from you, dear readers. We have explicit and UNDENIABLE, HISTORIC proof that an esper produced by Academy City's Power Curriculum can engage in the act of refining mana for use in magical activities using their life force._

" _If you could ask a magic user (you can't) whether an esper produced by Academy City's Power Curriculum can safely engage in magical activities or not, the answer would be a loud and resounding "no way! Mana refined through one's life force is incompatible with an esper's AIM Field and "Personal Reality" It can't be done!"_

" _We at the Sons of Taured would like to contest this standpoint. You can try this at home! The secret is not in an esper's AIM Field, but a simple line of magical code pre-inserted into the baseline AIM Field (which is then modified based on an individual's biological makeup) produced by the Power Curriculum. Erase the code, and your AIM Field is compatible with refined mana! Magic is in your everyday lives and you didn't even know it! Looks like Warmonger Academy City is just as crooked as Crooked Necessarius! A match made in Heaven."_

Shirai Kuroko poked the back of Saten Ruiko's head. The younger girl turned back and looked to the level four teleporter, offering her an awkward, if genuine grin.

"Mana?" This sounds like something out of one of those role-playing games. Excuse me while I throw some dice on the table and wave my magic wand to summon a griffin!"

Ruiko shook her head as she quietly giggled to herself. Uiharu Kazari didn't engage in the festivities; instead, she remained intently focused on the reading material before her. She scrolled down on the page, pushing the fingers of the phone's owner out of the way as she did so. Kazari licked her lower lip.

" _Want to learn how to refine mana as an esper in Academy City? Follow these simple, proven steps! 100% guaranteed success, or we'll sue ourselves!_

" _Step one: first things first! You'll need something we call a "Magic Circle". You won't be using it right away, but better to be prepared, no? You're going to want to draw the following three symbols, repeat them as many times as you'd like, though remember this: three divides into nine three times. This will be important later on. You can scribble these down within a drawn, circular formation on something as simple as a piece of paper:_

_Two arrows, one pointing towards you, another pointing away._

_Something leaving something else. This could be as simple as one stickman walking away from another!_

_Draw a small circle. Color half of this circle dark and leave the other half uncolored and preferably light._

" _In the center, you're going to want to draw something that relates to healing. This can be as simple a first aid kit or as complex as wound scabbing over. LEAVE A SMALL SPACE IN YOUR CIRCLE! DON'T UTILIZE YOUR MAGIC CIRCLE UNTIL YOU'VE COMPLETED THE RITUAL DETAILED BELOW, AND ON PAGES SIX AND TEN! DOING SO WILL RESULT IN GRIEVOUS BODILY HARM IF YOU ARE AN ESPER PRODUCED BY ACADEMY CITY'S POWER CURRICULUM!_

" _Step two: you're going to need a mirror. In many cultures, mirrors – and especially the act of breaking a mirror – are associated with the cleansing of a person's body. When you look into a mirror, it's said in many cultures (IE: Sumerian, Aztec, Mayan, Ancient Greek and even Ancient Roman) that when a person looks into a mirror, they're transferring the darkness within themselves into the reflection of the mirror, cleansing themselves of their inner turmoil._

" _Step three: look your own reflection in the eye. This passively engages the transferring process. Think deeply about all the things that you'd like to be rid of, pray for them to leave and they'll leave. Pray, wish for them to leave. This code buried deep within you should be one of the things you wish to be rid of._

" _Step four: nine seconds should suffice. While this creates a more potent connection with the mirror, it isn't necessary. You can look at yourself for as long as you'd like, you narcissist! In numerology, the number nine represents lots of things, universal love, and understanding between all of mankind being among these things. I'm sure saying 'things' a lot, aren't I? You could try waiting for nine milliseconds, but it's pretty hard to count those. Soon, you'll be needing to rely on the concept of "Idol Theory", but not just yet! No magic for you! You can read more about Idol Theory on page twelve of this booklet._

" _Step five: smash that mirror! You're a strong, independent young person and you don't need no oppression!_

" _Step six: congratulations! You can now refine mana. How? The use of a mirror to cleanse one's body is not magical in nature, that's how! Rather, further investigations have proved that the matter is more deeply rooted in old world religious practices not related to the usage of 'magic' as we know it. Refer to page eight to learn more about some very basic spells you can cast! Good job! If you constructed your Magic Circle, you'll actually be able to use it!"_

Uiharu Kazari sat up, breathing a sigh; whether it was of exasperation or relief, neither Saten Ruiko nor Shirai Kuroko could tell.

"Spells… mana… "Idol Theory?" This is all so much to take in," the Goalkeeper complained, stretching her form as she produced a loud and lengthy yawn.

Saten Ruiko looked to her level four companion, tilting her head to one side as she sat herself upon her rump.

"Do you have a spare mirror, Shirai-san?"

"N-no! You're not going to try something like that in our dorm! Onee-Sama would _kill_ me if you ended up… up…"

"So, you're one of us, then, Shirai-san? You believe in Urban Legends?"

Saten Ruiko grinned a wide, toothy grin at Shirai Kuroko, her lips stretching so wide that they looked as if they were going to rip her cheeks apart if they stretched even an inch further.

"N-NO! You're a public menace, Saten-san!"

Shirai Kuroko grumbled to herself before she fell from Misaka Mikoto's bed and to her knees. Rooting beneath her bed, she pushed more than half of her form underneath the piece of furniture.

For some time, the level four teleporter remained halfway beneath the bed before she 'surfaced', with a small, pink handheld mirror in hand. Both Saten Ruiko and Uiharu Kazari seemed to relieved to see their companion return to them from the inky depths below. Lengthy and rectangular, the mirror's frame was dotted with many floral patterns.

"Just so I can prove you wrong, I'm going to let you borrow this. This is insane, even by your standards, Saten-san. There is no way that magic can be real! There's no recorded proof at all of anything of the sort, nothing! All of your information is just on these… conspiratorial nutcase websites!

"That's offensive!" Ruiko stated, flatly. "They're not nutcase websites. They're alternative news websites, thank you very much."

"Whatever you want to call it. If magic was real, wouldn't you think that people would've been using it during wars, during the three World Wars as well?"

Saten Ruiko enthusiastically took the handheld mirror into her own hands. She abandoned her place on the bed and began rooting through the collection of items upon the surface of the nearby study desk, where she found a rather large piece of paper, one which would've fit snuggly into a binder. Nearby, Ruiko also collected a blue pen from the same study desk.

"S-Saten-san? Are you s-sure this is safe?" Kazari inquired, leaning forwards as Ruiko returned to Shirai Kuroko's bed. Throwing her utensils down, Ruiko placed either of her hands upon her hips and nodded her head.

"No, I'm not sure at all~! But what's life without a few risks, right? I don't mind being the guinea pig."

The reality was a bit more convoluted than that.

For Saten Ruiko, the possibility of the existence of this "Other Side" had become personal.

If developing an esper ability was simply out of the question, no matter how hard she tried (a fact which seemed to spit in the face of Misaka Mikoto's absolute insistence that such perseverance would see her make even a single level's worth of developments), then surely this 'magic' could be the alternative opportunity she needed to take advantage of?

Of that Saten Ruiko certainly hoped.

Uiharu Kazari and Shirai Kuroko watched on nervously as Saten Ruiko drew the best circle that she could upon the surface of her pilfered paper, leaving a small section of the circle incomplete.

Little did she know that this simple act of purposeful artistic incompetence would save her life.

Ruiko then repeated the required symbols three times, resulting in a total of nine symbols being drawn within the circle, scribbled onto the paper. In the center of the circle, a small, cartoonish caricature of a human hand was scribbled, with a small cut in the center of its palm. Half of this cut had several lines drawn over it, apparently to represent stitches.

Into the mirror, Saten Ruiko looked on as Uiharu Kazari and Shirai Kuroko whispered to one another.

Clad in the long-sleeved navy blue winter uniform of Sakugawa Middle School, Ruiko's long, dark hair trailed down her shoulders and fell past her bosom, which was considerably ample for a thirteen-year-old girl, not that she paid all that much attention to it. They were there, certainly, but that's all they were. Just blobs that existed.

Staring her own reflection in the mirror, Saten Ruiko blinked occasionally as she silently spoke within the confines of her higher mind.

" _If there's a dark code inside of me that's part of my AIM Field, I'd like for it to be gone, please. I want it to go away. It needs to go away. I pray that it goes away. It needs to go away, now."_

"SQUEEEERRRRRRRR!"

What Uiharu Kazari and Shirai Kuroko saw, and what Saten Ruiko experienced were two very different things.

Yet, in a way, they were very much alike.

Outwardly, a near-blinding golden Light surged outwards from Saten Ruiko's mortal body, enveloping the two hundred and eighth room of the Tokiwadai Dormitory. Both Shirai Kuroko and Uiharu Kazari were forced to not only slam their eyes shut, but cover them with their respective hands. From the stained glass window, the golden Light emerged, paying no heed to the solid material that opposed it. The Light openly and provocatively defied the laws of the world.

From the corners of Saten Ruiko's mouth, from her nose, from the corners of her eyes, and from her ears, seeping through the dark-haired girl's tympanic membrane, smog of the darkest coloration emerged. It was no match for the Light, and like an unholy existence forced to bow before an angel the smog was unable to hold out before it was forced to dissipate.

Inwardly, Saten Ruiko had never known such bliss. It was like she'd been touched by something inherently clean, something so natural and pure that nothing could possibly compare. Her heart slowed, returning to its natural pace, and through her nostrils she breathed, in and out, in and out.

" _I feel… good."_

In a certain Windowless Building, one of the most powerful beings on Earth looked on, his lips folded into a neutral position upon his upside-down face, less of a frown and more of a grim, straightened line of determination.

He wasn't losing; but could this be considered 'winning'? It hadn't been the first time that Aleister Crowley had witnessed a great burst of Holy Light emanating from within one of his espers, one of his toys. Lines were being crossed.

Then again, distractions were distractions, and distracting such things certainly were. Aleister Crowley could spin this minor inconvenience to work in his favor.

The Light that'd come to fill the two hundred and eighth dorm of Tokiwadai Dormitory had almost completely faded, though some minor amounts of 'residue' remained behind, lingering along the walls and falling gently from the ceiling like so many feathers.

Both Uiharu Kazari and Shirai Kuroko could only look onwards, confused and stunned as they almost sized up their friend.

Nothing appeared abnormal. Saten Ruiko stood normally, back straight with her arms at her sides. Her facial expression was hardly abnormal; she looked to be her usual, cheery, easygoing self.

"Wha…?"

"S-Saten-san?! Are you alright?! What happened? There was… sunlight?!"

"I'm perfectly fine! Fit as a fiddle!" Ruiko answered, producing a short giggle as she returned to Shirai Kuroko's bed, where Uiharu Kazari sat, her legs crossed beneath her posterior. Peering down at the nearly-completed Magic Circle she'd created, Ruiko grabbed her phone and began to calmly scroll downwards, carefully sliding her fingertip over the device's touchscreen.

Several other pictures that'd been taken of the mysterious and anomalous pamphlet were present within the 'offending' article, though there was one in particular that Ruiko sought.

She sought page eight, the page of the pamphlet (or booklet, to use the name in which it'd used to refer to itself) in which "basic spells" were supposedly located.

In a certain Windowless Building, Aleister Crowley had a choice to make.

On one hand, the General Superintendent could've completely disabled Academy City's access to the Internet, potentially raising the risk of more students leaving their dormitories than usual and discovering the pamphlets scattered about the City.

On the other hand, the General Superintendent could simply leave well enough alone and allow fate to play out as it chose. After all, the unfolded events, apparently spearheaded and forced into action by an unknown third party, the "Sons of Taured" would serve to keep "them" occupied. The crossing of the lines hardly interfered with his scheming. In fact, the opposite was true; it was quite the boon.

Aleister Crowley smirked.

"Saten-san, I really don't think we should…"

"Shirai-san! The implications here are HUGE! Look what just happened! It's real! What they said was… something happened! They didn't really say what was going to happen, to be fair, but something happened!"

Uiharu Kazari remained focused on her friend's phone, which she'd taken into her own hands. Carefully, the Goalkeeper scrolled about, observing and pondering what exactly was printed upon the pages of the anomalous pamphlet that'd been photographed. The level one thermal hand user raised an eyebrow at the first of many "basic spells" listed within the small table of contents.

" _I) Basic "Heal Wounds" cast: perfected by the Ancient Chinese (thanks, commies!), this cast will heal most common wounds with very little issue. While it won't bring your amputated leg back, it will seal up that nasty cut on your knee._

" _If you followed the guide for removing your esper AIM Field's limitations found on page five of this booklet, then you would have already partially constructed a Magic Circle that can perform this cast! If the cleansing you performed using your mirror was a success (you'll know), then feel free to complete your Magic Circle._

" _For something so basic, no string of arcane, rhyming words is necessary, no sacrificial goats required, either! What a bonus! All you need to do is simply wish to be healed. The world of magic, one which has been hidden from those who should rightfully know of its existence is one of belief. The greater your belief in your casting abilities, the greater your cast will be!"_

By the time Uiharu Kazari looked up from her friend's phone, Saten Ruiko had completed the Magic Circle, filling in the blank area with her pilfered pen. Ruiko placed the piece of paper with the Circle drawn upon its surfaces on the floor, adjacent to Shirai Kuroko's bed.

Kneeling, and resting either of her hands before her chin, clutching them together and closing her eyes, Saten Ruiko silently wished to be healed, even if there wasn't anything wrong with her. Within the confines of her higher mind, Saten Ruiko dearly wished for the spell to work.

Despite the fact that a functioning, albeit powerless AIM Field was present within her, she passively refined the power of her own life force without consequence. Saten Ruiko didn't stumble nor did she suddenly burst into a funnel of blood.

There were no sounds, no indication that the cast was functioning as intended, or at all for that matter. Saten Ruiko hoped harder, her brow furrowing as she pleaded with her own higher mind for the cast to trigger an effect of some type.

Suddenly, there was a quiet, gentle humming produced from her form. Many small, glowing orbs of golden light danced around her, rising up and down, swaying from side to side.

Though Ruiko has no way of knowing it, a small bruise located on her right shoulder which she'd received some weeks ago as a result of being hit with a baseball, hurled at her by a rogue ball-dispensing machine had healed, the unsightly brown spot vanishing within the span of a few seconds.

Uiharu Kazari responded by fainting.

Shirai Kuroko responded by rushing to Uiharu Kazari's side, repeatedly slapping her cheeks before she rushed to the dorm's bathroom, the intent of finding and filling a glass with cold water to throw in the Goalkeeper's face alive within and at the forefront of the teleporter's mind.

The lines between science and magic had been crossed, and not for the first time in Academy City.

* * *

Misaka Mikoto growled in frustration. Pocketing her Gekota-themed smartphone, the Railgun stuffed her hands into the pockets of her skirt and kicked at the brown, cobbled pavement beneath her feet.

"Why isn't that Idio… uneducated person of Japanese descent answering his phone?! Rrrgghhhh. You are UNBEARABLE."

" _Yet here I am, loving you like I am. Fate's whimsical."_

Shokuhou Misaki raised the tip of her index and middle fingers to her lower lip, shaking her head from one side to the other.

"That's destruction of public property, Misaka-san. How offensive~!"

"I'll destruct you in a minute," Mikoto retorted, jokingly.

Both the third and the fifth level five were seated in a public transportation terminal, surrounded by other students of both genders, most of whom seemed to be decent enough. The last thing either the Ace or the Queen of Tokiwadai needed were tailgating thugs to harass them when they were simply minding their own respective businesses.

"Where are you planning on going, my Queen?"

"Queen? Why wouldn't you tell us you were set to galivant with the Ace?"

Shokuhou Misaki rested her face in the palm of her right hand as she muttered to herself.

Crossing her left leg over her right, Misaka Mikoto looked away.

Of course, that just figured. Shokuhou's clique had trailed them.

"Hello, Misaka-san," the apparent commander-in-chief spoke, softly. Clad in Tokiwadai Middle School's winter uniform, long, lavender-colored ringlet curls dangled from her head and trailed along her shoulders. With eyes of a similar color, the individual most commonly known as the "Ringlet Curl Girl" smiled almost sleepily.

Mikoto groaned.

"H-hey."

Another young woman adorned in the winter uniform of Tokiwadai Middle School stood before her 'Queen'. Though much shorter than Shokuhou Misaki's own, her hair was golden blonde, its tips ending in curls. The fringe of the young woman's hair was tied back, exposing her forehead.

"Queen, it's not safe for a beautiful young woman such as yourself to be out at this hour. There are vandals and fugitives abound. Please let us accompany you to…"

"No."

Even Misaka Mikoto looked up, tilting her head to look in the fifth-ranked level five's direction.

One of several other young women hailing from Tokiwadai Middle School, with dark, blue-black hair styled into two lengthy, thin twintails took to her companion's side.

"What ever do you mean, Queen?"

"I'd like to spend this time privately with Misaka-san. Both Misaka-san and I can more than handle ourselves. Please leave. I don't appreciate being coddled, and I'm quite sure that Misaka-san doesn't appreciate the sentiment either."

"I-its… really not that big of a deal, Shokuhou."

Shokuhou Misaki looked sternly to the guilty-seeming members of her ever-loyal clique.

"Off with you, now. I'll return to the Dormitory when I choose to return. There, our horse-drawn carriage."

Indeed, Misaka Mikoto followed Shokuhou Misaki's finger. The "horse-drawn carriage" in question had arrived. It came to a halt before the terminal, all three sets of its ornate doors sliding within the vehicle itself as several passengers both disembarked and boarded the vehicle.

Both the third and fifth ranked level fives rose. Shokuhou Misaki stuck up her nose as she boarded the vehicle, presenting a bus pass she'd fetched from within her starry, golden-colored purse. Misaka Mikoto produced one as well, though she'd scrounged hers from within one of her skirt's pockets. She paid the poor, abandoned members of Shokuhou Misaki's clique one last glance. The seven girls stood within the terminal, looking on as if they were each watching their beloved head off to a foreign land, likely never to be seen again.

"Is that the Queen of Tokiwadai?! Such elegance!"

"Is that the Ace?! She's so cute!"

"I want to hug them both."

"Too far. You're fucking weird, dude."

Close to the front of the public transportation vehicle Shokuhou Misaki and Misaka Mikoto sat themselves down; Misaki had quickly claimed the window seat, placing her index and middle fingers next to her eye in a V-shape and sticking out her tongue when the Railgun grumbled at her about being "like a child".

"Perhaps you know where exactly we're supposed to be headed, Misaka-san? I… I've never had a reason to seek Kamijou-san out. I… wouldn't know where he lives."

Mikoto wrapped her arm around the Mental Out user's shoulders before she crossed her left leg over her right, producing a soft, melancholic sigh. If Shokuhou Misaki hadn't become accustomed to the Railgun's oddly affectionate behavior towards her, she likely would've attempted to worm her way out of the embrace.

"Shokuhou, he's spilled a lot of beans to me. That Idio… that boy who can act like an Idiot sometimes, he's involved with things I can't even begin to understand."

"As you've said."

"Yeah. I've experienced bits and pieces but nothing like what he's been through. He _told_ me, to my face, that he'd lost his memory, but then he'd got it back after… everything. That's what he said. I can almost guarantee you whatever was wrong with his brain, it was fixed or… something. I don't even know what I'm going to say to him. I just… it's about seeing him, it really is, but… I want to discuss something else with him, too. Vengeance. It's time we hit back."

"You want to see Kamijou-san, and so do I. Say no more, Misaka-san. Your anger's understood but the proper channels must be used. Openly attacking 'them' will do little, as you've seen in the past. Like cockroaches Academy City's faculties, the so-called adults multiply. Where one falls, many more will appear."

"Exactly. Like I said… whenever it was that we last talked about this…"

"Last week," Misaki corrected.

Mikoto nodded in response. She leaned forward as the mode of public transportation began to move forwards, slowly but surely beginning its journey to a location ideally close to that boy's place of residence.

As the vehicle chugged forwards, its wheels spinning motions increasing in speed, the Railgun felt an odd, unfamiliar pang within her upper chest, close to her heart, somewhere near the section of her chest where her breasts were.

It was close to her heart. For a moment, Misaka Mikoto thought that she might've be dying.

"Thanks, that's right. Like I said I've been doing thinking of my own, since he, you know, confessed. It's not fair to him."

"What isn't, Misaka-san?"

"Girls always fighting over him. Constantly bickering amongst themselves. I'm no better, I've done it before. It must make him feel awful, I know it doesn't feel very good to me… I've spent a lot of time in my own head, Shokuhou. I almost feel like one of those Buddhist monks who live in the mountains."

"Kamijou-san does experience a large volume of female attention, doesn't he?" Misaki rhetorically inquired, her voice dropping to a whisper. In her lap, her golden, starry purse sat.

From within the fashionable accessory, Shokuhou Misaki produced a television remote. Holding the device above her head, the Mental Out user pressed a single button down.

"PIIIIIIII!"

Though it wasn't evident through the behavior of their fellow passengers, a command had been planted within their minds.

"There we go~! That will keep the collective attentions of our co-passengers away from us, and focused on everything else around them. We can speak freely now, Misaka-san. Don't fret, I'll probably release them after our journey comes to an end, here. Probably. Hehe."

"Some things never change," Mikoto grumbled under her breath, much more to herself than to Shokuhou Misaki. "I have an idea."

"Is this about what we'd discussed previously, then?"

"Yeah. Maybe, this time, we won't be sexually harassed. The guys in this place are complete bastards."

Shokuhou Misaki tossed her head back, running her hands, clad in her trademark gloves through her locks of honey-colored hair.

"Can you really blame them, Misaka-san? Look at us. We're beautiful."

Misaka Mikoto simply leaned back in her seat, slouching casually. Her skirt rode upwards, exposing a section of her beige shorts, serving the purpose of undergarments.

"My, my, Misaka-san. You're still wearing… those? You should wear cute little panties like a proper lady."

"Shove off."

While there hadn't been any great amount of malice in her tone of voice, Misaka Mikoto seemed distant nonetheless. She looked out from the window (which was partially obscured by Shokuhou Misaki's head) and out into the streets of Academy City's seventh school district.

Over a great section of elevated highway roadway, the public transportation vehicle travelled, effortlessly ascending a rather steep incline which lead to a flat section of roadway. Considerable congested, Mikoto produced an irritated sigh as the vehicle slowed to a crawl.

"Shokuhou? Is there anything you can do about this? Mess with their heads, make them go faster?"

"I can only maintain full control over a limited number of individuals at once, Misaka-san. Patience~!"

"GrrghrhghrhghthatdamnShokuhourggrghghhhrg."

"Hm? What was that? I think I may have misheard you."

"Nothin'."

* * *

February 7th, 2004. 4:54 PM.

Perhaps, if the circumstances had been of a lighter tone in nature, Kamijou Touma would've considered attempting to better introduce Musujime Awaki and Kumokawa Seria to one another on a "personal" basis; bedding both exceedingly attractive young women at once would've been a dream come true.

Yet, even if the circumstances had been lighter in tone, there were feelings to consider. Kumokawa Seria had spoken her piece, and Kamijou Touma would respect her. The fact that she was willing to understand his situation and compromise with him at all was a dream come true, in and of itself.

There they were, having been teleported to Musujime Awaki's place of residence.

Musujime Awaki's place of residence didn't belong to her. Rather, it belonged to someone else, someone smaller, someone older as well. She certainly didn't look her age.

Tiny, pink and deeply saddened, Tsukuyomi Komoe stared up at Kamijou Touma with tears in her eyes. The liquid dripped down her cheeks, barely restrained. Her lips had curled downwards into a pout-like frown, and her cheeks had grown enlarged.

She looked like a small child upset after losing their favorite possession.

While Musujime Awaki was in the process of offering comfort to the woman who'd taken her in as a freeloader, Kumokawa Seria was preoccupied with marveling at the numerous, emptied beer cans and emptied cartons of cigarettes that were scattered around the room.

She'd heard the rumors, but she'd never thought there was any truth to any of it.

"K-Kamijou-chan! You need to stop skipping your classes! You'll w-wo… you'll work fast food for the rest of your life if you d-don't get an education! Sensei doesn't want to see you serving burgers! Especially if you're going to start a life for yourself and your… your… your… GIRLFRIEND! My little Kamijou-chan is growing up too quickly!"

It was only then that Kamijou Touma realized he had his arm wrapped around Kumokawa Seria's shoulder, as the two sat together before Tsukuyomi Komoe's small table, within her equally small-sized home. It might as well have been a broom closet, even by Touma's standards.

"I'm personally tending to Kamijou-san with the utmost care, Komoe-sensei," Seria stated, causing Komoe's lips to curl upwards, into a smile. This seemed to bring relief to an exasperated-seeming Musujime Awaki, who slumped forward and produced an exhausted sigh.

"It's a bit more complicated than that, sensei," Touma spoke, to which Seria nodded in agreement, "but the point stands I guess. Don't worry about me. Look, sensei, you know about magic. You helped Index way back when, and I still can't thank you enough for doing that…"

"You don't need to thank me, Kamijou-chan!" Tsukuyomi Komoe exclaimed, planting her tiny hands against either of her little hips.

"But we need to do some… magic-related stuff here. This is a safe, quiet place. You can stay out of it completely if you want, we just need… Musujime's got to see some things. Weird shit's going down in Academy City, sensei."

The fully-grown adult teacher who looked more like a ten-year-old child looked to Musujime Awaki, and then back to Kamijou Touma and Kumokawa Seria, who'd taken her kohai's left hand into her own right.

"Musujime-chan? You don't know about magic?"

"No?"

Resting his free hand against the table's surface, Kamijou Touma leaned inwards.

"To be fair, it's supposed to be something that's kept hush-hush from our "Side". It's not common knowledge, sensei, and there are people who'd prefer that it stays that way."

"I do have to wonder why," Komoe questioned. Her rhetorical inquiry fell to the wayside as Kamijou Touma, arguably the most experienced with the Magic Side within the room continued.

"Looks like it's going to be hard for 'em to do that, with their secrets pretty much being exposed to anyone who decides to investigate these pamphlets… Seria and I think it's safer for Musujime to know what she's stumbled upon. You remember how unfamiliar it was to you, right sensei? If magicians would've come after you, for whatever reason, you would've been completely defenseless. That's what we DON'T want for Musujime."

"I guess I owe you for that, don't I? Twice bitten, three times shy?" Awaki rhetorically inquired, sitting herself across from the duo of Kamijou Touma and Kumokawa Seria. "My heeeee~rooooo… really, though, let's be real for a second, here. Weird as it is, it's the thought that counts, Kamijou. Same goes to you, Kumokawa. Sheesh, can things GET any weirder? The weirdness scale here is off the charts."

Having collected multiple pamphlets along the way, Kamijou Touma placed one of them upon the surface of Tsukuyomi Komoe's table. It stood out amongst the crumpled newspapers, trashed cans of alcoholic beverages and flattened packages of cigarettes, some of which had perfectly usable butts contained within.

Opening the propaganda piece in literary form, Kamijou Touma flipped through the pages with a curious Kumokawa Seria at his side, who quietly read along as her kohai did.

Then, he spoke. Touma gained the respective attentions of both Musujime Awaki and his tiny teacher.

"… we at the Sons of Taured would like to contest this standpoint. You can try this at home…? The secret is not in an esper's AIM Field, but a simple line of magical code pre-inserted… what the fuck are they talking about?"

"Language, Kamijou-chan! There are girls here! I bet your g-g… g… g-girl… friend… doesn't like to hear you talk like that, either!"

"Watch that tongue of yours, my little kohai. It could get you in trouble," Seria teasingly remarked. The mood-lightener was much appreciated, and Touma showed his appreciation by resting his available hand upon his senpai's legs, which he affectionately stroked.

Musujime Awaki certainly wouldn't have minded that sort of touching.

Kamijou was getting more and more handsome with every minute that passed. The way he'd taken control of the situation, one which by her own admissions was strange enough to travel down any road, if given the chance to spiral out of control impressed the Move Point user.

"This reads like religious cult nonsense," Seria stated, firmly. She'd taken the pamphlet into her own hands. Holding it respectfully and intelligently, she peered down at the collection of papers with disdain.

"In many cultures, mirrors – and especially the act of breaking a mirror – are associated with the cleansing of a person's body… whomever penned this piece sounds less like a vocalizer of rebel yells and more like a snake oil salesman."

Kamijou Touma nodded. Freeing either of his arms, much to Kumokawa Seria's disappointment, he looked from one side of the room, and then to the other.

"Look, we're going to need a pen and paper. Musujime, Seria, this might sound… very strange to you. I get that, just try to keep an open mind. We're going to find out if I can use magic."

Musujime Awaki shook her head, no. Crossing her arms beneath her bosom, she tilted her head to the left and leaned to the side.

"It says right in here that this… "magic" isn't compatible with espers who don't do the thing. You're going to have to do the thing, first. Looking into a mirror? Aztecs? Oookkaaayyyy. Sheesh, the weird-train just keeps on rolling. Still looking for the hidden cameras, no offense. This whole scenario is completely unbelievable."

"No offense taken, I don't blame you for being skeptical, I was too, at first. I'm not an esper, Musujime. I've never even been through the Power Curriculum."

Kumokawa Seria adjusted herself and straightened her back, unfolding her legs and readjusting her position upon the floor. Each ached, as the muscles within strained, the blood flow restored to the limbs as Seria relieved the pressure that'd been placed upon them.

Hopefully, her kohai was fond of giving massages to beautiful women.

"It's something of a convoluted tale, Musujime-san. Trust my kohai. He'll give you the proof you're looking for, he's not one to lie, even when lying would be convenient for him. You also have my word, though, understandably, that likely isn't worth very much to you, considering we've only just met."

Musujime Awaki produced a long, drawn-out sigh.

What on Earth had she gotten herself involved in?


	16. Something New Every Day

There had been an extended period of silence shared between the Queen of Tokiwadai and the Ace of Tokiwadai.

While it had been anything but uncomfortable given that both girls had retreated into their own respective minds to debate many a subject with themselves, pressing their higher minds and their consciences for the answers they otherwise felt were unobtainable through 'normal' means, both had come up with more than one subject to discuss with the other.

Their ride in the public transportation vehicle had neared the halfway point of its journey. They'd ascended more than one steep incline and they'd descended more than one steep decline as well. The vehicle had made sharp turns, and more than once both the Railgun and Mental Out felt concerned that their 'horse-drawn carriage' would deliver them not to a fairy tale fantasy, but to a nightmare of twisted steel, screams and shredded humans.

Of course, the Railgun could've easily prevented such a thing in the event. Regardless, the concern existed simply due to the fact that Misaka Mikoto was, at her most base levels, a human being.

Why was her mind so completely fucked? Why was Misaka Mikoto burdened by a preoccupation with violence, death and injustice? Why couldn't she just think like a normal person? The doubt ate away at her like a predator feasting upon the corpse of its fallen prey. A change in thought patterns was needed, there had to be an end to the cycle.

"Shokuhou?"

"Hmm? Yes, Misaka-san? Is everything alright?"

"Just fine. I have a question. What's being friends with Dolly like? From how you've described her, she sounds… sweet. It'd be nice to meet her someday."

Shokuhou Misaki chose not to answer immediately, and she showed few signs of feeling like a hasty answer to the Railgun's inquiry needed to be provided. Instead, she continued to look outwards, past the occasionally bobbing head of the vehicle's driver. As the vehicle passed over a speedbump, it rocked back and forth. A group of giddy middles schoolers giggled and laughed aloud. Apparently from Sakugawa Middle School, their uniforms were identical to those worn by Saten Ruiko and Uiharu Kazari.

Even as it did, the smile never disappeared from the Mental Out user's face.

"I think the both of you would get along very well. Dolly's a kind soul and considering what she experienced, she's turned out well. Dolly is a fine girl, I think. She's likely a good influence for the Sister Kamijou-san saved from… his… clutches."

"His? Just say his name. Don't give him that kind of power over you. Kihara. Fucking. Gensei. Evil incarnate."

"A person who deserves to die."

To Mikoto's look of slight shock, Misaki nodded, as if to affirm that the words she'd spoken were truthful, from the bottom of her heart, and, above all else, a fact and not merely an opinion.

"I wasn't aware that Sisters, aside from Dolly, were produced at levels lower than three. Kamijou-san's belief that this particular Sister was the result of an error, perhaps an issue with the results delivered by TREE_DIAGRAM may be based in reality. While I'm grateful that she finds herself well, I do have to ask why such a Sister would be kept alive."

Misaka Mikoto could only shrug.

"Maybe the scientists enjoyed watching her struggle. They're sadistic, complete monsters. All of that matters, it always will matter, but HE matters right now. The old man. I'm not letting the old man get away with everything he's done, especially to… to him. To Touma. That's another reason why I want to get closer. That old bastard's got to pay, for everything. I want to be part of the death squad that hunts him down."

"You've neglected to tell me exactly what sort of fate has befallen Kamijou-san, Misaka-san."

Shokuhou Misaki hadn't been wrong; Misaka Mikoto very much had 'neglected' to provide her companion and once-enemy with that information.

Mikoto wasn't that cruel.

"Don't ask questions you don't want to know the answers to, Shokuhou. I was… I was just told. It kept me awake at night, ask Kuroko. It made me sick."

"Perhaps I'd rather not know, then."

"Yeah. You don't. Believe me, just drop it."

The public transportation vehicle soon came to a stop before a certain terminal. For a few moments, momentum carried the public transportation vehicle.

Located near a small family restaurant unrelated to the ubiquitous Joseph's Coffee and Restaurant chains that dotted Academy City's school districts, the terminal wasn't particularly crowded.

Only a pair of students stood within, two young men. From Nagatenjouki Academy judging by the appearances of their silver-colored uniforms, one held the right of the other in his left. Misaka Mikoto silently admired their courage. She couldn't have known it, but Shokuhou Misaki thought the same.

Rising from her seat, the Railgun pressed a small button located on a nearby pole. Gripping onto it, Mikoto yanked herself upwards, while Misaki sat up in a far more ladylike manner, slinging her starry purse over her shoulder and tossing her head back. Like honey-colored ripples, her hair flowed.

How long did it take to wash something like that every morning? Mikoto didn't want to know the answer, preferring to let it remain as an unknown variable. She much preferred her own manageable hair.

"He's… Touma… he's a little different than what you might remember him being like. And by a little, I mean a lot."

"As I'd expect. It has been some time since we really did know one another, after all, Misaka-san."

Both level fives disembarked; both thanked the vehicle's driver. Given that Misaki had retracted the mental string of "programming" she'd infected the vehicle's driver and other passengers with, he could perceive their respective presences.

One set of buckled loafers touched down upon the ornately-carved cobbled pavement after the other. One belonging to a set of legs which were clad in knee-high, dark-colored stockings, the other belonging to a longer set, clad in thigh-high, webbed stockings as white as snow. Two polar opposites standing together as unlikely allies, both awakened.

"Biribiri-chan and… LITERAL HEAVEN ON EARTH?! Your breasts are glorious! Mate with me! GIVE ME NUTRIENTS!"

Blue-haired, with pierced ears and clad in casual attire consisting of little more than a simplistic, short-sleeved shirt, a pair of beige-colored denims and trainers looking like they'd been fetched straight from the bottom of a bargain bin, Aogami Pierce rushed towards the Queen and the Ace of Tokiwadai like a maddened bear who'd only just awakened from hibernation with a rumbling stomach.

If this was the case then Shokuhou Misaki and Misaka Mikoto were the salmon. In such a proverbial case of predator and prey, however, one of these salmon could shock the life from him with a flick of her wrist, while the other could fry his brains with the press of a button.

While the electric shock applied to the rampaging Aogami Pierce wasn't enough to kill him, it was more than enough to put him out of commission. Mikoto groaned, shaking her head as onlookers gazed on, as they always did, as they likely always would.

Let them stare. Let them behold the power of the Railgun, Academy City's third-ranked level five. She didn't need any Attachment to increase her power. She'd find other ways.

On their way by his charred, smoking form, spread out across the walkway, Shokuhou Misaki poked Aogami Pierce's shoulder once, resulting in his body twitching; indeed, he was alive. That had been confirmation enough for Tokiwadai's Queen.

"Mate with me"? Are we cavepeople? Honestly, I know that guy is a very vocal minority, but…"

"But nothing, Misaka-san. His behavior could embolden extremists of his ilk. We are more than mere meat-bags to be ogled. Weeelllll, that all depends on who's doing the ogling~…"

"You're depraved, Shokuhou."

"You're in love with me, Miiiiisaaaaka-saaaaan~!"

"RrrrggghghthatdamnShokuhourrrghrhghrhghg."

Silence descended once more as both the Queen and the Ace of Tokiwadai carried on, making their way towards a destination only Mikoto knew the location of; Misaki merely followed in the third-ranked level five's footsteps.

They received more than once awkward glance, and more than one adoring series of waves from both the same and opposite genders. While Shokuhou Misaki seemed to shy away from the attention, looking towards the ground beneath her feet, Misaka Mikoto knew just how to put on the right poker face. She'd politely wave back, smiling and giggling like a stereotypical, bubbly little schoolgirl.

So, that was how "Inoue Ayano" managed to do it. That was yet another matter Shokuhou Misaki wasn't privy to.

"What can I expect from my Prince, Misaka-san?"

"Confidence. Overwhelming confidence, almost cockiness. He'll probably make advances on you, he's… what we in the business refer to as "woke". Until we figure something out, I don't know what to do when he drops the moves on me. It's sweet, no matter how confident he is, he still manages to find a way to become an awkward, stuttering mess, but… erm, I'm not in any position to return those feelings."

"So you say, Misaka-san, so you saaaay~. Indeed… still, why bother dancing around the issue at hand when it can be faced directly, hm?"

Both Queen and Ace made a left turn, making their way up a considerably steep incline. Shokuhou Misaki couldn't have known it, but their destination was within reach. Some few blocks would have to be traversed, little more and no less unless abilities came into play.

"What exactly are you implying, Shokuhou?" Mikoto inquired. She didn't turn to face Tokiwadai's Queen; rather, she continued to look forward, her brow furrowing.

"Well, I see it this way, Misaka-san. If what you've told me about Kamijou-san's confession of love to you is truth and not some sort of strange fantasy you've conjured up…"

"Keep going. You just can't help but fuck with me, can you?"

"Nope~! Language, language! It's unladylike and unbecoming for a proper young woman like yourself to cuss!"

"… huh?"

Misaki could only quietly giggle to herself. She raised her index and middle fingers of her right hand to her lower lip, her eyelids closing shut as she haughtily chuckled. Mikoto massaged her temples, and under her breath, she grumbled in irritation.

"Do I have to spell it out for you? If what you say is true, then Kamijou-san has very intense feelings for you, and attempting to pry you from him would merely result in pushing you closer together. As well, such would be a scummy thing for me to do. Instead, I propose a joint operation."

Mikoto cracked her neck.

"Who are you and what have you done with Shokuhou? Shokuhou I know never would've cared. She was out to further her own ends and nothing more. I think you might be more woke than him. By this point, I'd expected you to try something sneaky. Glad we're still on the same page."

In response, Misaki could only giggle. Winking, she folded her arms behind her back as the Queen and the Ace of Tokiwadai passed by a small group of individuals, students by the looks of them.

Shokuhou Misaki suddenly became considerably less enthusiastic. She looked behind her, craning her neck ever so slightly. Misaka Mikoto did the same, a singular streak of electricity leaping from the top of her head.

Something had seemed off and both girls had noticed it, an internal tripwire had been triggered in the both of them.

Something was inherently wrong with the students in question. It wasn't their choice of attire (they didn't seem to have much of a choice; their uniforms were simplistic and identical to one another in style and in coloration) and it wasn't their appearances, per say.

It was the students' cold, unfeeling facial expressions.

Their eyes were blank, their lips straightened into neutral, emotionless stares, void of anything even remotely human. They walked casually enough, limbs swaying at their sides, yet, there was an issue. They more resembled machines struggling to emulate the walking cycle of a human being than a collection of actual human beings. In their hands, the "students" held many pamphlets, while others held rolls of clear, industrial strength tape.

From her purse, Misaki produced one of her remotes from a collection of many. Aiming the piece of electronics behind her, she pressed her thumb down on one of the remote's buttons.

"PIIIIIIII!"

"Misaka-san, act natural."

"Wha…"

"Act natural. Walk with me. I'll tell you when we're out of earshot."

"Hol…"

"There's nothing, I didn't feel anything, Misaka-san. Something is wrong."

Both turned a corner and both came to a stop. Standing before a towering dormitory that didn't belong to Kamijou Touma or anyone else either girl associated with, Misaki looked to Mikoto, then over her shoulder, and back to the Railgun.

"Not machines," Mikoto stated with an affirmative nod of her head. "I would've been able to detect whatever they were made of, unless the City's dug up some sort of previously unknown metal, in which case, good job on them I guess. Nothing at all?"

"Nothing," Misaki confirmed. With a shake of her head, the Mental Out user breathed a sigh and adjusted the collar of her winter uniform's jumper. "They lacked minds that I'm capable of manipulating with my ability. The likelihood of eight electromasters traveling together as a pack is unlikely, and if they were electromasters… well, no Electro-Barriers were present."

"Whatever, it's none of our business. If it's a problem, Anti Skill or Judgment will clean it up. C'mon, daylight's burning… now, what was this we were saying about a "joint operation"? We should probably discuss it now before we actually get to Touma's."

Softly clearing her throat, the Mental Out user carried on in her side of the conversation from where she'd left off. She was inclined to agree. Even if they'd lost control of the City once, Misaki wasn't about to turn her back on those whose living was dedicated solely to protecting students such as her. It was a noble cause to be sure.

"You weren't incorrect when you stated that Kamijou-san is often burdened by the females in his life who tend to… quarrel with one another. My intel also suggests that, as you stated, he's made uncomfortable by this. Yes, I've been keeping tabs on my Prince, but only so that his safety can be ensured in the event of an emergency. I'll have you know I'm not the only one…"

"… _Kumokawa. You've experienced some interesting changes, too, haven't you? That boy, my Prince, he affects those around him even when he's not present at all. It's alright, I cried too."_

"Go on, Shokuhou. I'm listening."

"The last thing Kamijou-san would need is us bickering amongst one another, adding fuel to the proverbial fire that burns around him. We are both in love with him, and if what you say is true he may end up returning my feelings as well."

"Do you have any idea what you're actually suggesting, here? Could you actually swallow that stubborn pride of yours enough to even realistically consider _sharing_ him with me? Shokuhou, that would be a massive responsibility we'd be undertaking. I don't think it's so much a matter of him not being uncomfortable with the idea, but…"

"But what, Misaka-san~? Are you afraid that the peanut gallery will have negative words to speak?"

"That depends. Who exactly is the "peanut gallery?"

"Rumors fly," Misaki stated simply.

Soon, both Shokuhou Misaki and Misaka Mikoto had made their way down a total of three lengthy blocks of towering residential dormitories, as well as several smaller dormitories constructed to fulfil the same purpose, though rather than existing as high-rise structures, these were made up of several individual dorms stacked atop one another, each of those on the singular upper levels of each structure being reached by a staircase.

There was one dormitory in particular that Misaka Mikoto sought, and soon it was within her vision's range. Eight stories tall and rather run-down, the dormitory looked like it hadn't been properly serviced in some time. While the windowpanes were clean enough in most dorms, there were those that looked like they hadn't been properly cleaned in months, or perhaps even years.

"This is the place," Mikoto spoke. Judging by the look on her face, Shokuhou Misaki was experiencing similar musings to Mikoto's own.

Brushing her bangs aside, Misaki took charge, walking towards the entranceway that would lead into the dormitory's lobby.

"This is hardly a place of residence fit for a Prince."

"You're not going to get too far."

From Misaka Mikoto's outstretched fingertips, a series of electric currents surged outwards. Like licking flames, they became one with the entranceway door, which began to produce a series of violent popping sounds. The doorframe shook from side to side, violently shuddering for a moment before there was a 'click' sound produced from within.

Pulling the sabotaged door open, Mikoto didn't bother holding it for Misaki; surely, she could extend her arm and hold a door on her own. To her surprise, Tokiwadai's Queen didn't have any sort of snarky remarks to make about her "unladylike" behavior.

"I hope all that exercise you've been doing pays off because we're going to have to take the stairs. I don't think the elevators work here, he never takes them."

"O-oh… my… well, it isn't like I can't climb stairs! I'd only prefer not to, working up a sweat isn't what proper ladies do in a c-casual situation, Misaka-san~!"

"Uh… huh."

Pulling the stairwell door open, and feeling the strain in her muscles – the door was surprisingly heavy, perhaps it was intended to be fireproof – Mikoto opted to hold the second of two open for Shokuhou Misaki, who mockingly curtsied on her way in.

With a huff, Mikoto let the massive paperweight close behind her. To her further surprise, the door closed rather slowly, creaking as its hinges performed their only function in life.

Before the Mental Out user could even begin to incessantly whine about the darkness, Mikoto called forth a series of electric currents to perpetually dance around her, creating limited illumination, enough for either of the girls to see their own bodies, and what was beneath their feet.

Many a stair was climbed, and many a complaint was vocalized by the sixth strongest esper in Academy City, who repeatedly struggled to take oxygenized air into her lungs, while Mikoto didn't seem to struggle with the admittedly lengthy ascent in the slightest.

"T-too… m-many… s-stairs… w-why are there… n-no… escalators? W-would that… not be so… much more… convenient?"

"You can't be exercising that much, Shokuhou. A few stairs shouldn't give you trouble. Do you even regularly visit a doctor? There could be something wrong with you."

"M-my, my, Misaka-san~! W-worried about little old… m-moi?"

"Of course I am, why wouldn't I be? I'm not that shallow, I'm not going to wish death on you just because we don't agree on some things, and besides, you're my friend. I care about you. Even when we were way more opposed to each other, it wasn't like I wanted anything bad to happen to you."

Shokuhou Misaki didn't vocalize a reply.

As if to repay the third-ranked level five for her previous act of kindness, a panting Shokuhou Misaki managed to yank the third in a series of doors open, which she then held. Offering the third-ranked level five a smile, Mikoto made her way through the door which would lead to the floor on which that boy's dorm was located.

Misaka Mikoto sniffed the air. It was stale; the oxygenized air within the illuminated hall didn't smell healthy in the slightest.

With golden, synthetic light beamed down from the hall's ceiling, the Railgun could dispel her own source of illumination. With a simple unconscious command, the currents of electricity that'd surrounded her faded from existence, buzzing loudly as they 'died'.

There it was. The third and sixth strongest level fives in Academy City had made their way to the door that would lead into that bullheaded boy's dorm. The sounds of life were present within. Though slightly muffled, voices could be heard communicating with one another.

"Very well, nun, what is it that you propose we do about this issue? This does not bode well, nor is it something that will simply go away."

"I've never heard anything about half of this! The other half is completely correct, and that's NOT good! Whoever these people are, they're going to cause something truly terrible to happen through their selfish acts! These lines were set for a reason between the Sides!"

"You don't have to preach that information to me, nun. I know better than anyone the balance that must be maintained, in order for lasting peace to exist between the scientific and magical worlds."

Shokuhou Misaki could only raise an eyebrow, her right ear pressed against the door's surface.

"D-did… who's in Kamijou-san's dorm? A nun? "Magic"? What in the world are they speaking of, Misaka-san?"

"Ooooh, boy."

Three times Misaka Mikoto knocked against the surface of the door. Her knuckles rapt against its cool, thick metallic surface; for a moment, the Railgun reeled. That'd hurt. She probably should've knocked with less force.

"Who's there? Hi! Hold on! Are you looking for Touma? One moment, please!" The cheery voice of Index spoke.

The door opened, and Shokuhou Misaki just barely managed to avoid falling into the dorm; she'd only just pulled herself away from the door. Placing her hands behind her back and clasping them, she puffed her chest out and attempted to look presentable.

But there was one question floating freely in the currents of her higher mind's thoughts.

Why did her Prince have a nun living with him? The other one's presence was known to her. The blonde-haired, green-eyed beauty was "Olivia-chan", Kamijou's distant relative who'd come from Denmark to develop her esper abilities.

"Short-hair? And one of short-hair's friends?"

"D-don't call me that."

Politely, Shokuhou Misaki extended one of her glove-clad hands.

"Shokuhou Misaki, it's a pleasure to make your acquaintance, sister. Has my Prin… Kamijou-san taken you in? I do hope you're not destitute. If so, I have plenty of spare yen I could offer you."

Mikoto could only raise an eyebrow. Shokuhou Misaki never would've been kind to another girl, especially one who was _living_ with _him_. Had she really changed that much? Just how much thinking had Shokuhou done? What kind of mental sojourn had she embarked on? The Railgun would have to ask.

By the time Mikoto's attention had returned to the 'real world', the little nun, Index had shaken hands with Shokuhou and had welcomed her in. By default (and by the commands of her own subconscious), Misaka Mikoto had followed, just barely remembering to slip her loafers off.

"Hullo Railgun," the being known as Othinus, who went under the pseudonym and the alternate identity of "Olivia-chan" spoke in a surprisingly warm fashion. "Who's your friend? She's quite… appealing to the eye."

"Hey."

"Oh, my," Misaki spoke, a slight blush appearing on either of her cheeks. "Well, t-thank you, O-Olivia-chan. Your compliment is much appreciated. You're very beautiful as well."

As Misaki and "Olivia-chan" began to exchange pleasantries, Misaka Mikoto joined Index at the table. Upon its surface, a few strange and surreal items had been collected, along with a pamphlet, which was spread across the table, almost entirely opened to show all its pages, at least on one of its faces. Mikoto assumed the pamphlet to have more than one face; a pamphlet to not two faces would've been a very strange formatting choice indeed.

"She doesn't know, does she?"

"Nope. About magic? Double nope. Where's Touma?"

"Since when have you called Touma by his first name? He's not here right now, he's with his friend… Kumo-something-or-other. The One-Eyed bimbo will keep her distracted while we talk, short-hair."

"Since recently, and don't call me that."

Index shrugged her shoulders, taking a series of deep breaths. She was obviously experiencing a great amount of stress. She shook her head from side to side, as if she needed to physically move her brain about within her skull in order to 'reset' it's thought process.

"Ugh, fine! Short-hair, something very dangerous is happening here. I wasn't aware of it until now, the One-Eyed one brought this home with her from she and Touma's school."

Mikoto looked over the information detailed in the pamphlet, and it hardly took her long at all to discover the nature of what was penned within.

Something about "Magic Circles", something else about "mirrors", about "Crooked Necessarius" and "Warmonger Academy City". It read like a Cold War propaganda piece, with "the red communists" being replaced by magical and scientific establishments.

A series of shivers ran down Mikoto's spine. Weren't they supposed to be completely separate from one another? The Idiot certainly knew more about magic than she did.

"Where's Touma?"

"I don't know, short-hair. I just know that he went off with one of his… friends…"

The nun pouted, folding her arms across her chest. The Railgun raised an eyebrow but didn't question the swift and sudden change in demeanor.

"Is there anyone who does know? He and I need to talk. And my friend Shokuhou. The three of us need to have a chat. Do you think he knows about these pamphlets? This is all pretty sudden. I didn't even see anything of the sort…"

But Mikoto had. She'd seen pamphlets of some description, a good amount of them to boot, being carried by the strangely-behaved students. Their possession of what had looked like industrial strength masking tape was a particularly damning part of the equation Mikoto was forming within her higher mind.

"I really, really need to talk to Touma. I think there might be magic users in Academy City. Do you remember what happened the last time? It lead… it lead straight into a World War! Could that happen again?"

"Unlikely."

Index seemed adamant. With a nod of her head, the little nun looked Misaka Mikoto straight in the eyes, her own azure irises locking with Mikoto's chestnut browns.

"The war occurred due to conflicts between the Roman Catholic Church and Academy City. These, this "Sons of Taured", they don't seem to be affiliated with any official branch of any church, instead, they actively criticize the Roman Catholic Church, the Russian Orthodox Church and the Anglican Church as one "great evil" so to speak… keep an eye out. If you see anything suspicious, try not to involve yourself, but report it. This needs to be handled delicately."

Nodding in affirmation, the Railgun found herself breathing a sigh of relief as she hunched forwards, slightly. Index caught her and helped her stabilize herself, though the little nun didn't seem to be particularly impressed with the behavior of Academy City's third-ranked level five.

Shokuhou Misaki had looked back but didn't pay much further attention to the issue, especially after Mikoto had smiled reassuringly at her. "Olivia-chan" successfully reigned the Mental Out user's attention back in.

For someone who'd been given mere seconds to construct a plan, she was executing said plan with considerable success.

"OI! BIRIBIRI-CHAN! THAT YOU?! CAN YOU HEAR ME?! DO YOU COPY?!"

The shout shook Misaka Mikoto and seemed to startle Index as well. Having originated from the dorm next to Kamijou Touma's own, Mikoto recognized the voice; but just how had the voice's owner heard her? A better question was, how had she heard the voice's owner?

From within the nun's habit, the head of a small calico cat appeared. The small creature looked from left to right, and then meowed at the third-ranked level five.

" _He_ might know where Touma is," Index snarled. "I'm not talking to him right now, though. Not after the way he talked to Touma. Do you have any idea just how Touma has done for him? He should be thanking Touma! Ugh. So frustrating. I'm hungry now. Short-hair, make me something to eat."

"Who do I look like? Your wife?" Mikoto inquired, unimpressed.

Rising from her seat, she looked in the direction of Shokuhou Misaki and "Olivia-chan". Sprawled out on the floor, both rested on their respective stomachs, though Misaki had raised her legs, crossing one over the other.

Why on Earth had she gotten herself into "the pose"? He wasn't even around to see it, if Index was telling the truth.

"Why is Kamijou-san having difficulties with these assignments? They seem like baseline, entry-level reading comprehension problems," Misaki remarked. Propping her head up with either of her hands, her starry eyes looked down at the partially-filled collection of papers spread out across the hardwood flooring.

"Olivia-chan" shook her head, no. "He isn't having issues with the material. The issue lies in getting himself to his classes. I've taken the liberty of collecting his assignments and fulfilling their quotas myself."

"Huh? How much is he payin' you?" Mikoto questioned, stepping close to the both. She knelt between them, looking down at the papers.

"Nothing," the former Magic God remarked simply. "I don't and wouldn't demand monetary compensation. We'll leave it at, "I owe him". Helping to keep his grades up is the absolute least I can do to repay the debts I owe. Thankfully for me, Shokuhou-san, as you suggested, these questions are hardly of the difficult variety."

Misaka Mikoto poked Shokuhou Misaki on the shoulder, temporarily borrowing her attention from the former Magic God.

"I'm going next door. You coming? Or staying here?"

"I have no reason to remain in someone else's dorm when they aren't home. I'd feel like I was intruding, if I'm speaking truthfully. I'll accompany you, dear, so that you aren't accosted. Strength in numbers~!"

Rising, Mikoto grumbled as she made her way towards the door, where she slipped her stocking-clad feet into either of her loafers.

"Accosted… yeah. Okay, Shokuhou. Whatever you say."

" _I have the weirdest feeling that things are about to spiral out of control. Fucking magic… I just wanted to see that dumb boy… Touma, do you know anything about this magic business? I'm sure you do. I want to help, you know. When I find you, I'm helping you and that's that. I love you too. I love you too, so much!"_

Both the third and sixth-ranked level fives had found themselves leaving Touma's Touma-less dorm behind; Misaka Mikoto closed the door behind her with caution, ensuring that it didn't slam and create a great ruckus. To the next door to the right of Touma's dorm, Misaka Mikoto and Shokuhou Misaki traversed, taking only a few steps to reach their goal.

It was Shokuhou Misaki who'd taken the liberty of knocking, beating her rival to it. The level five electromaster grumbled to herself.

"Come on in, Biribiri-chan. Door's unlocked… place's a bit of a mess so mind your step."

Once both Shokuhou Misaki and Misaka Mikoto entered, the dorm's resident produced a long and high-pitched whistle. Clutching his chin in his right hand, Tsuchimikado Motoharu stroked it with his index finger and thumb.

Mikoto couldn't have felt any less comfortable.

"Two Tokiwadai cuties? In MY dorm? People are going to start mistaking me for Kami-yan. So, who's your girl friend, Biribiri-chan? A classmate? Maybe a senpai of some sort?"

Haughtily, Shokuhou Misaki tossed her head to one side. Her hair flowed, dancing about as she held her head high with her chest thrust out. Tsuchimikado Motoharu had taken notice.

"Shokuhou Misaki, second year at Tokiwadai Middle School and sixth most prolific esper in all of Academy City."

For only a moment, Tsuchimikado Motoharu raised an eyebrow. He quietly clicked his tongue before he nodded his head as if he was affirming something.

"I did hear that Tokiwadai was teaching two level fives. Huh… I expected you to be a little bit… smaller. If you know what I mean. For a second year, you've got some… ah, forget it."

Misaki further thrust out her chest, much to Mikoto's chagrin.

" _They're just lumps of fat, Shokuhou. It's not like you're going to win a trophy for having balloons strapped to your chest."_

With a haughty grin, the sixth-ranked level five rested her glove-clad hands on either of her hips.

"Some refer to me simply as "Mental Out", but you can call me Shokuhou-san. It's a pleasure to make your acquaintance. I presume you to be a friend of Misaka-san's?"

Then, Shokuhou Misaki took in her surroundings. She'd been so preoccupied with making a good first impression that there were 'some' details she'd failed to notice. It was the smell that hit her first, then the visual issues themselves.

Compared to Kamijou Touma's dorm, the new dorm she'd found herself in was an absolute pigsty.

Clothes were tossed about on the hardwood flooring, an empty bag of chips was sat haphazardly upon the torn-up old couch, and the walls were lined with large holes, approximately the size of fists. It more resembled a war zone than a livable dorm.

Tsuchimikado Motoharu seemed to have taken notice.

"Like I said, mind your step… and, you can say that. Last month's little stunt pulled on us by our dear Kami-yan brought us together in a common goal, but we knew one another before last month, as well. Just not anywhere near as well. So, Biribiri-chan! Are we good?"

Misaka Mikoto sighed in exasperation, shaking her head, no. Tsuchimikado Motoharu clicked his tongue.

With a groan, she leaned against the wall; the couch wasn't a piece of furniture she was about to go anywhere near. Shokuhou Misaki apparently held similar thoughts of her own, as she'd taken to leaning against the door, using it to support her body's weight.

Was there even a point to hiding it? Shokuhou was bound to find out at some point or another if she was going to begin involving herself with the affairs of that boy, Kamijou Touma, the boy who was no longer a boy. A certain sentient marionette might've felt a bit better about itself if it was real.

The fact that Mikoto had unconsciously compared the boy who'd done so much, not only for her but for the world to Pinocchio sent pangs of remorse traveling throughout her form, surging like Formula One drag-racing vehicles that whipped around a proverbial racetrack.

"Great… fucking… great. So, I don't know if the nun told you or not Biribiri-chan, but we've evidently got a situation. I'm sure you've seen these things placed all over, booklets, with a guy wearing a paper bag over his head on the front. I'm working on that as best as I can, while also trying to keep Kami-yan under control and that's easier said than done."

Both level fives spoke their minds at once.

"Under control"? Whatever do you mean by "under control?" Kamijou-san is perfectly reasonable."

"Where is he? Where's Touma?"

" _How the fuck does he deal with this shit?!"_

Motoharu approached, either of his hands in the air as if he was being booked for committing a crime. He walked with confidence, holding his head high, his back straightened, his strides unrestrained in their considerable swagger.

"Woah. Hold it, ladies. Shokuhou-san, you're completely out of the loop. Biribiri-chan, I assumed that's why you'd show up here. Why else do all sorts of girls always come around? I might as well start calling Kami-yan "the Dickman…"

"That's not what this is about," Mikoto insisted. No blush was present, and she hardly felt as if she was flustered. There was nothing to be flustered about; it simply wasn't true. The idea of engaging in sexual intercourse with that boy just wasn't part of the Railgun's agenda.

To show that she stood in solidarity with the Railgun on the matter, Misaki nodded in affirmation, though she remained silent.

Inwardly, she analyzed the sunglasses-wearing boy. Misaki scrutinized his every act, his body's every motion. She made mental notes and comparisons.

There was something dark about him, something conniving. There was a cunning and calculating aura about him. He held himself with confidence, which was legitimate, and yet there was something 'behind' that confidence, propping it up and offering it support beams.

Shokuhou Misaki reached into purse, and though she didn't produce one, she clicked down upon the button of her favored remote, one which would get a certain job done.

"PIIIIIIIIII!"

"In all seriousness, I do know where he is, and you being here? That's good. That's very good. Finally, something I can work with! FUCK!"

Both the sixth-ranked and third-ranked level five espers looked to one another; the sunglasses-wearing boy with the spiked hair seemed to be unstable. He behaved in a completely nonsensical way, repeatedly pumping his fist forward, outwards from his right hip while he continuously stomped the adjacent foot against the hardwood flooring.

"Get a grip on him. Kumokawa's not going to, she's letting him run wild and uncontained. That's not good. He'll…"

"Did… you say… "Kumokawa?"

"Yes, ma'am. Is there a problem, Shokuhou-san? Am I sensing some sort of animosity here?"

Misaka Mikoto craned her neck in Shokuhou Misaki's direction. The Mental Out user repeatedly clicked her tongue as her arms found themselves crossed beneath her ample bosom. A facial expression of barely contained irritation had overtaken her normally cheery and bubbly outward persona.

"Animosity? Heavens, no… no, none at all."

" _What are you up to? What sort of power play is this, Kumokawa? Why I ought to… okay. Stop right there, Shokuhou. This is precisely the sort of behavior Misaka-san spoke of. If what she says is true, then… hm. It would seem you've won the race, Kumokawa. Bravo. I do believe we had an agreement, but, if my Prince has had his memory restored, I suppose that agreement would've been voided, hm? Yes, I suppose that makes enough sense… perhaps my Prince has finally opened his eyes to the truth? If confidence is an element at play on this board of ours… hm."_

Shokuhou Misaki drifted out of her mental contemplations, only to find Misaka Mikoto and the sunglasses-wearing boy with the spiked hair exchanging rather heated words.

"You talk about him like he's some sort of monster! Do you have any idea of what he's done for people?! He's done things that no normal person could've or would've accomplished! He's laid down his life for complete strangers and conquered impossible odds just because he felt that he had to! To help people! To help us!"

"You're coming at this from a biased perspective, don't be a fucking fool. He IS a monster, he's a sick fucking puppy. I don't know if there's a way just yet, but, for his own good, he needs to be put down. He…"

Electricity leaped freely from Misaka Mikoto's form, causing the synthetic illumination provided by the ceiling-mounted sources of light scattered about the dorm's ceiling to flicker. Multiple short, rapid brownouts were experienced as the Railgun gritted her teeth. An uncomfortable Shokuhou Misaki took a step back.

"You did not just say that. You DIDN'T."

"Skill Out Factions suddenly disappearing from the face of Academy City, cut and dry thugs, baddies of all types turning up mangled and busted up like roadkill. Just last week, people tell me laboratory was hit in district seventeen, no survivors, dead scientists everywhere, dropped like flies."

"You say that like it's a bad thing! If it was Touma, which you don't even a shred of evidence to back your claim up with, he wouldn't have hurt anyone without reason!" Mikoto raged.

Motoharu shrugged indifferently. Stuffing his hands into the pockets of his pants, he fearlessly took a step towards the infuriated Railgun.

"Or so you'd like to think, Biribiri-chan. Maybe your boy-toy is turning into everything he hated. Maybe you just don't want to face the truth. You know what they say about heroes and long lifespans… wouldn't surprise me if that was him too. Kami-yan's got a body count and he's not afraid to let people know, he's the worst kind of killer, the "publicity killer."

Shokuhou Misaki took to the side of the third-ranked level five; a surprise to the Backstabbing Blade, given that all intel pointed to the two being bitter rivals. The fact that hey seemed to be willingly in the company of one another was anomalous enough in and of itself, but that didn't matter. The anomaly was present, there was no use in considering it or internally debating about its purpose.

"I stand in solidarity with Misaka-san. Kamijou-san would do nothing of the sort, he's simply not an individual who indulges in mindless violence. To defend his honor or to protect someone who has come upon a difficult situation, yes, but not simply out of a desire to harm another."

"Who are you, sugar-tits? His mother?" Motoharu quipped. Raising either of his arms, the Backstabbing Blade rested them behind his neck, casually stretching as sparks leapt from the Railgun's form.

"You want him? Go get him. Reign him in, Biribiri-chan. Don't know what you are to him, Shokuhou-san, but you should try and do the same. He's making things difficult for important people. Kami-yan doesn't actually carry his phone on his person, but Kumokawa does. Here, bother her about it."

Producing his phone from his pocket, Motoharu shoved the device in the girls' faces. Indeed, Kumokawa Seria's contact information had been brought to the forward of the smartphone's display. A small, professional photograph depicting Seria from the shoulders and up, an e-mail address, website information linking to her social media accounts, as well as her phone number.

While Misaka Mikoto possessed no such information previously, the same couldn't have been said for Shokuhou Misaki.

Just who was the sunglasses-wearing boy with the spiked hair, and just what was he to Kumokawa Seria? Misaki raised an eyebrow inquisitively but ultimately kept her inquiries to herself.

"That's all I needed from you, then."

"Good seeing you too, Biribiri-chan!"

"Yeah, okay."

"Coooooold."

" _You'll be cold if you piss me off. Cold, as in a corpse. As in dead… ugh, get it together Mikoto. Thinking like this isn't good for you. You're a good person and you wouldn't hurt anyone without provocation."_

* * *

Kamijou Touma found himself surprised that his teacher had apparently remembered the mechanics of a spell taught to her by Index, on a night that seemed like its events had played out decades prior. Even if those specific mechanics weren't required as part of the spell, it was impressive nonetheless. A few minor adjustments were all had to be made. While the wax candles were useless to the ritual, they did manage to add to the mood.

Upon the coffee table, where many crunched cans of alcoholic beverages and even more crumpled boxes of cigarettes had been brushed to the carpeted flooring of the small home, an exact set of many items had been gathered. On a piece of paper, a circle had been drawn, with a smaller circle within. Between both circles, images related to the healing of one's wounds had been scribbled. Kamijou Touma's nanorobotic hands proved themselves capable of producing high-quality artwork, even if said artwork wasn't particularly complicated in its construction.

Musujime Awaki watched on, silently; in truth, she was already convinced that something strange was afoot. The amount of time, caution and effort put into the tiny construct before her would never have been worth the endgame 'payoff' of pulling a simple prank. She was more curious than skeptical; just what was going to happen?

With Kumokawa Seria at his side, Kamijou Touma leaned forward. He faced both his teacher, Tsukuyomi Komoe and the individual he'd only encountered three times, Musujime Awaki, someone he hoped to become closer with, someone he hoped to protect from the lashing tongue and gnashing fangs of Hell's depths.

"What exactly did Index have you do, sensei?"

The petite, pink ball of moral support's eyes seemed to widen for a moment.

"Your friend, Index, she… she sang. No words, she sang like she was part of a choir! It was so beautiful! I had to pray for an Angel to visit us so that she could be healed. She called this small setup a "temple."

"From what she told me, that was a different sort of ritual, sensei… I don't think we'll be needing to do that. Index taught me this, though. Should be quick, simple and clean… Index can't use magic, but she knows a lot about it. Must be one Hell of a tease."

Leaning forward, he focused. Kamijou Touma let his hands fall into his lap.

"Seria, you might want to take a step or twenty back. I don't know exactly what's going to happen here. Don't want you to get hurt, and since you've been through the Power Curriculum…"

"No need to explain yourself, my kohai. You're doing no wrong by looking out for my well-being."

Kumokawa Seria planted a soft and affectionate kiss to her kohai's cheek, before she moved away from him, taking to standing on the other side of Komoe's tiny home.

Then, her phone rang. Touma's eyelids opened, and he produced a sigh.

"Hm. Who… ah, well. Interesting. A moment, my little kohai and friends. I'll return shortly. In fact, just inform me as to when the spell is completed, perhaps?"

As Kumokawa Seria left her kohai's teacher's tiny home, Kamijou Touma forced himself to focus on the task at hand. Forcibly tuning out all other stimuli, he focused his attention solely on the task of casting the simplistic healing spell.

Either of his eyelids shut, and he began to mutter under his breath, reciting the lines Index had spoken to him many months ago, during one of her 'lessons' on magical applications. The fact that Touma had been completely unable to cast any magical spells at all was apparently a non-issue to the perpetually-hungry nun at that point in time; it likely still was a non-issue in the present.

There was nothing even remotely 'organic' about Kamijou Touma. He lacked a beating human heart, his 'organs' were composed of nanorobotic resin and his converted mind was more akin to a computer's operating system than to a functional human brain.

The electrical connection between his memories, compressed and stored within him as readable and writeable data and his synthetic 'life force', the personification of the fact that he was 'alive', capable of intelligent thought, neither matters could hardly be considered 'organic'.

And yet he defied the odds as he always had. Even without the anomalous force known as "Imagine Breaker" trapped within his right hand, Kamijou Touma shattered an illusion.

Kamijou Touma refined mana.

In a certain Windowless Building, watching on as a faint, golden illumination surrounded the form of Kamijou Touma, Aleister Crowley couldn't suppress a smile. The surprised and almost shocked facial expression of a potential level five made him grin even wider.

A being that was essentially a machine, a cyborg, had wielded the power of magic as its own. The fact that the Imagine Breaker's former Bearer had once been an organic human, born from a mother's womb was irrelevant.

At long last, science had won the age-old quarrel. Aleister Crowley wondered just who he was supposed to thank. When was he going to stop winning?

Shokuhou Misaki had been babbling only semi-coherently. Kumokawa Seria had stopped paying attention to her; Seria had set her sights on the great, golden glow emerging from the shuttered windows of Tsukuyomi Komoe's little home. It penetrated the cracks in the windowpanes and surged out from beneath the door. The very structure itself was shaken.

Had her little kohai done it? Had he managed to use magic? If that was the case, then his goal was accomplished.

"Kumokawa? Would you happen to be purposely ignoring me? Did you not hear what I've proposed? All I ask is that you be reasonable."

"Hm… forgive me Shokuhou-san. I was momentarily distracted. Why don't you repeat yourself? I know how much you love to hear yourself talk…"

On the other end of the line, the Queen of Tokiwadai produced a haughty "hmph".

"Very funny, I wager that you find yourself very humorous, don't you, Kumokawa? Ohoho! I can be humorous, too."

"I don't want to be your enemy, Shokuhou."

There was an extended period of silence between the two. Occasionally, the Queen and the Ace of Tokiwadai could be heard exchanging words, masked beneath hushed tones. Kumokawa Seria leaned against the nearby railing, her right arm crossed beneath her bosom while her left held her smartphone to her ear.

"Is that so? I only have one question for you, Kumokawa. Where is my Prince? Misaka-san and I, we would have… a word with him."

Kumokawa Seria shook her head. Of course, a middle schooler brat wouldn't be able to hold a serious conversation. She'd been foolish for trying in the first place.

It was about time to engage full-on soap opera mode.

"And I only have one question for you, Shokuhou."

"Please, ask away if you must."

"Do you truly believe that you're in love with Kamijou Touma? Had you known him anywhere near enough to truthfully say such a thing? Do you know him or do you know a godlike vision of the boy that you've built up in your mind?"

"WHAT?! Ahem. I mean… what in the world are you talking about, Kumokawa? You drivel on about nonsense and pseudointellectual armchair psychiatry."

"You spent some months together as friends, yes, and the tragedy of the fate that befell your friendship is unfortunate, I wouldn't contest such a thing… yet do you truly KNOW him?"

"You'd ask _me_ such a thing?"

Shokuhou Misaki sounded offended. Kumokawa Seria had struck a cord.

"I would. I would ask whether you're truly in love with that boy, or if this is simply some great chess-like game to you."

"I don't play games."

The sixth-ranked level five's tone of voice had dropped in pitch, her vocalizations becoming a series of aggressive snarls.

"Angry that someone has confronted you, "my Queen?" That boy's feelings are precious, more precious and more delicate than anything you could ever imagine, Shokuhou. His pain is greater than anything you could imagine. You move your pieces across a metaphorical gameboard, you scheme and you plot, you view him as little more than something to strive for."

"And you don't, Kumokawa? Hm. I do wager that you engage in a fair amount of scheming of your own."

"No, I don't. The tables aren't turning, Shokuhou. I believe that to you, Kamijou Touma is little more than a goal, a point to be proven. Could you even offer him the degree of support he needs? No, I doubt it. You would break. You're a rich little princess, you've lived with a spoon of gold in your mouth from the moment you emerged from the womb. You've no concept of what that boy's been through. You're ill… but I'm not going to continue to hold this conversation with you from afar."

Shokuhou Misaki produced a very forced giggle. It was full of pain, an agonized vocalization, one which was intended to but failed to mask a frothing mix of negative emotions.

"Ohoho! You seem to have been doing a very good of that thus far, but do go on…"

"Do make your way to the Dianoid, Shokuhou. If you want to find that boy, he'll be there. With me. Under my protection."

"We will see about that, won't we, Kumokawa? Have you forgotten who I am~? Have you forgotten what I can do~?"

"Hardly."


	17. The Wicked Waiting Game

If Misaka Mikoto had been a character in a manga, she would've been sweatdropping to the extreme.

If Shokuhou Misaki hadn't looked like a fuming, raging beast, Mikoto could've laughed at her own internal vision of herself.

The Mental Out user's face had become bright red. With either of her hands stuffed into the pockets of her skirt she stomped along with no path in sight or in mind. She simply walked. Both level fives found themselves some distance away from the dormitory in which Kamijou Touma hung his proverbial hat.

"Uh. If I can ask, who were you talking with, Shokuhou? Didn't sound like you guys get along very well."

"We don't, Misaka-san. We don't get along very well, or at all for that matter."

The sixth-ranked level five's snappiness took Mikoto by surprise. She shot the starry-eyed, red-faced, golden-haired girl a frustrated glare.

"Just because you're pissed, that doesn't give you the right to lash out at me. I literally haven't done anything to you, so chill out before you get yourself hurt. Did you find out where he is?"

Mikoto suddenly felt rather remorseful about her own reprisal. Shokuhou Misaki seemed to calm down. The color in her face faded back to its natural, pale state of being. Her lips, curled into a scowl at first curled downwards as her brow's furrow gave way. The honey-scented Queen of Tokiwadai breathed a sigh.

"I apologize Misaka-san. It wasn't right of me to attack you without provocation, I hope you can forgive me. There is a long and complicated history between Kumokawa-san and I, but I think the two of you will get along well; she's… changed drastically over this last passing month. I understand why, as well…"

Mikoto shrugged either of her shoulders. She shot an aggressive stare in the direction of a group of boys whose collective gazes followed the motions of her swaying hips; almost immediately they not only came to regret their decision, but fell to their collective knees and begged for forgiveness. The Railgun could only grumble in response.

"To answer your question, Misaka-san, Kamijou-san should be at the Dianoid, in school district fifteen."

"Yeah, I know where the Dianoid is… guys are so fucking annoying. Like, leave me the fuck alone, will you? Do I have to dress up like a ghost to keep these creeps from looking at me? I'm not trying to get attention. Just don't look at me when I walk, is that too much to ask for?"

"Attractiveness comes with a cost, Misaka-san."

"Yeah, I… wait. Did you just…? Whatever, it doesn't matter. Thanks, I guess."

She stopped. She stopped dead in her tracks and she sighed. Shokuhou Misaki turned her back, looking away from Misaka Mikoto, who couldn't have been any more confused.

"Go see Kamijou-san on your own."

"Wait. Huh? Am I missing something here? I feel like I'm missing something. The loop is over here,"

Mikoto extended her right arm outwards, wiggling her fingers.

"I'm here." The Railgun extended her left, wiggling her left hand's fingers before she dropped both of her arms back to her sides.

"Way out of it. Want to put me IN the loop? This just isn't you. This isn't a Shokuhou thing to do. You should be trying to race me there, or something, no? Ahh. Headache. Ouch, headache. Ouch. That kills."

The smile was weak, though it was still present. Mikoto had seen smiles of its ilk before. Like a crescent moon, it curved slightly. She'd smiled such smiles before.

It was one of barely-masked pain.

"I have much to think on before I begin interacting with my Prince… give Kamijou-san my regards, Misaka-san."

Misaka Mikoto had no way of knowing it – she could only guess, in fact – but Kumokawa Seria's words had stabbed into an exposed section of proverbial flesh between the plates of Shokuhou Misaki's metaphorical armor. Blood had been spilled and layers of metaphorical skin had been gouged.

" _I believe that to you, Kamijou Touma is little more than a goal, a point to be proven."_

As the sixth-ranked level five turned away from the third-ranked, who could only awkwardly extent her hand outwards, the starry-eyed girl's smile faded, her lips curling downwards into a frown.

Shokuhou Misaki walked with confidence and swagger, something that resembled a waltz of royalty; but Misaka Mikoto couldn't see the tears dripping down the Mental Out user's cheeks, originating from the corners of her starry eyes.

"S-Shokuhou? You… feeling alright? Everything okay? Where are you even planning on going?"

Mikoto's inquiries weren't answered. The slowly faded like a series of words spoken in the depths of a cavernous pit.

Soon, Shokuhou Misaki had turned a corner, beginning her downhill walk down a steep section of cobbled pavement paved along a declining hill. The sections of grass that flanked either side of the cobbled walkway swayed in the light breeze, as did Misaka Mikoto's hair.

Once again the Railgun produced her phone, staring down at it while she walked in the opposite direction of Shokuhou Misaki. She could only hope that Tsuchimikado Motoharu had given her the correct contact information, and that he'd been truthful with her about that boy's location.

She could only hope that Shokuhou Misaki was alright. Misaka Mikoto breathed a sigh, as she looked back, to the area where she and the sixth-ranked level five had been standing, together, mere moments prior.

* * *

Musujime Awaki was still dumbfounded. She looked from one side of the small room and then to the other, blinking repeatedly. Remaining seated next to the woman who'd taken her in as a freeloader, the fully-grown teacher who resembled a small child, Musujime Awaki leaned forward, slumping against the table.

Academy City was a place of miracles. It was a place where science ruled, and it was a place where witnessing the use of extraordinary abilities was a common, everyday occurrence. One could hardly walk down the street without seeing an esper doing something strange with some sort of ability or another.

What she had seen wasn't science.

The glow emerging from that boy, from the simplistic circle he'd drawn, the shaking of the small home and the low, angelic humming that was vocalized from nowhere, yet from everywhere at the same time wasn't science. Musujime Awaki had felt it in her bones and in her skin. Her skin still crawled, covered with goosebumps.

"I have SEVERAL questions," Awaki stated once she'd managed to get a grip on herself. By that point, a troubled-looking Kumokawa Seria had returned to the interior of the small home and had taken her seat next to the extraordinary boy she called her kohai.

She took him into her arms. Kumokawa Seria pulled him close and protectively embraced him like a mother bear might've embraced her cub.

"Did everything go as you planned, Touma-kun?"

Touma nodded in affirmation.

"I'm assuming so? I've never used magic before. There was definitely a glow, a lot of shaking too… so I assume it worked? Oi, Musujime, ask away. I'll answer as best as I can."

And yet his words suggested that this wasn't necessarily the case.

Kamijou Touma shrugged his shoulders as he slumped downwards. Resting his head in his senpai's lap, Seria took to ruffling the boy's hair, running her fingers over his scalp as she looked down at him.

Tsukuyomi Komoe looked like she was on the verge of tears, though she didn't look sad, per say. Rather, her tiny lips had curled upwards, into a smile.

"M-my little Kamijou-chan is all… HE'S ALL GROWN UP! Musujime-chan! Hold meeeee!"

"W-wait…"

The level four teleporter, Move Point, a potential level five candidate ended up looking like she was babysitting a small, bratty child. The fully-grown Tsukuyomi Komoe had seated herself in her dependant's lap and clasped onto the shoulders of Awaki's jumper. The Move Point user's facial expression was all that was needed; both Kamijou Touma and Kumokawa Seria could easily read enough from that alone to gauge just how the teleporter felt about her predicament.

A short amount of time more passed before Kamijou Touma rolled himself over, the back of his head laid comfortably in the lap pillow provided to him curtesy of an overjoyed-looking Kumokawa Seria, who continued to fiddle with her kohai's hair.

"So, okay. Let me… give me a minute to put this into perspective then. If "magic" is real, then just what is "magic?" I'm very lost. I've fallen and I can't get up, mentally at least."

Kumokawa Seria sat upright, thrusting her chest out as she held her head high, confidence practically beaming from her form.

Musujime Awaki found her gaze drifting towards Kumokawa Seria's bosom. She gulped, and then shook her head slightly. They certainly a nice pair, indeed.

"Magic was devised as a means for ancient magicians to "compete" with ancient espers, who the ancient magicians found themselves jealous of. Espers could wield great power but those who'd go on to become magicians couldn't. Magic was, and still is something that exists to fulfill a caster's desires."

Move Point raised an eyebrow. Apparently, she had other inquiries to pose.

"… and, I gather that espers can't use magic, then. Is that the case? That's what I picked up from your earlier conversations with your boyfriend."

"It's a little bit more complicated than that," Seria assured with a nod. She didn't seem to be displeased with the words she spoke. Instead, a small grin tugged at the corners of her mouth.

"That's the case. Espers can't wield magic due to the fact that their Personal Reality and AIM Field would clash with the process of refining mana, a process which involves the use of one's life force, supposedly a part of one's soul, formed when one's life force and memories are electrically connected with one another. Mana is incompatible with an esper's Personal Reality and AIM Field."

Musujime Awaki gritted her teeth as a headache wracked her. With either of her index fingers, she massaged her temples.

"This is way over my head. I'm drowning here... okay, I think I've got one last question to ask, then I'm… sheesh, I'm done after that. This is all too weird for me, man. You were talking about how I was going to be up shit creek without a paddle if I knew about magic, since I'm an esper. What's the deal there?"

"And you will be if you don't know what to expect," Touma stated, firmly. "Magicians prey on the element of surprise they've got when it comes to dealing with Academy City and the scientific world. They could want to hunt you down just because you know even a little bit about it, magic that is."

"Any idea why this is being kept from espers? Presumably the rest of the world, too? Seems like something that could be convenient for everyday use. Maybe I'm wrong, that's just the way I see it."

Touma certainly couldn't blame Awaki for being curious. Rising from the lap of a suddenly disappointed Kumokawa Seria, Kamijou Touma adjusted his position, keeping himself in close proximity to his senpai.

Working with what she was given, Seria protectively placed her arm around her kohai's shoulder, pulling him close one more. Apparently, the boy didn't mind the forceful attention.

Who was Musujime Awaki to judge? She merely shrugged their antics off. Still, she wouldn't have minded being the one doing the hugging, or, for that matter, being the one who was experiencing the sensation of being so close to that incredible bosom.

Awaki shook her head once more, as if she needed to physically move her body to clear and catalogue her thoughts.

"There's an intended balance that's designed to separate the worlds of the scientific and the magical from one another," Seria explained.

Despite all her protectiveness, that boy, whatever he might've been to her didn't seem to mind. He'd snuggled close, much to his overprotective senpai's joy. With either of his arms wrapped around her waist, he accepted his place.

"You see, from what I've gathered – and I can very much confirm the validity of this information, _believe_ me," Seria began, "there is something of a peace treaty in place. Its intended function is to prevent either side from meddling in the affairs of the other."

"And that's exactly why what's happening with these pamphlets is so dangerous," the apparently exceedingly cuddly Kamijou Touma interjected. "A violation of this… "Magic-Science Treaty" could spell bad things. I mean, yeah, I just violated it by doing what I did, but fuck them. What are they going to do, waterboard me? Ooh, I'm terrified. Go start a war you fucks."

While Kumokawa Seria had found herself giggling quietly, Tsukuyomi Komoe seemed offended; after all, her precious little Kamijou-chan had just uttered filthy, dirty cuss words. Musujime Awaki simply looked confused. The comment about "starting a war" was potentially distasteful, but far from irrelevant. Academy City hadn't been in the right, far from it. Awaki could agree with the boy on that.

"Take my advice on one thing," Touma began to elaborate, moving his hands about to illustrate and accentuate his points, "there're some things you should know about. Not saying anything is going to happen to you, but it's better to be safe than sorry. I'm speaking from experience here. If things seem too quiet, if there aren't enough people around, if something is just not right, there's a "People-Clearing Field" in place. It does exactly what it says on the box."

"And?"

"It operates with… you're going to laugh."

"If I was going to laugh I would've done it by now. Hit me with your best shot, Kamijou."

"It operates with runes… if…"

Awaki performed a spit-take. Though she had no beverage to sip from, her own saliva sufficed.

"Sheesh, that is pretty weird… sorry. Carry on, I'm listening… holy shit, runes… who would've thought it."

Touma chuckled. "It all is pretty wild. If you're unfortunate enough to find yourself near the runes that make up the spell, it's just you and whatever magician wants to cook you up for dinner. You can just get out of it by finding your way past the runes – pretty easy in your case."

Once more Musujime Awaki began to feel the beginnings of a headache. She leaned forward, causing Komoe to tumble from the Move Point user's lap.

"I… I'm going to take a nap. Sheesh, this is a lot of shit to take in. Mass conspiracies, Magic-Science Treaties, runes?"

"Here? You're… just going to conk out here? I mean, I'm not judging… Komoe-sensei is pretty welcoming..."

"Kamijou-chan, y-you're too kind!"

"Yeah. I live here, Kamijou."

Komoe perked up. Having managed to pick herself up from the carpeted floor, she'd only just returned from her brief trip to the small home's miniature refrigerator, from where she'd obtained a new alcoholic beverage. Popping it open, she pressed the can's spout to her lips and took a long, deep sip.

"Yup! Musujime-chan is a freeloader here! Her living arrangements were supposed to be temporary, but…"

"She fell in love with me," Awaki clarified, rolling her eyes. "Then again, can you blame her?"

All three of the high school-aged individuals watched on as Komoe downed her intoxicating beverage. Kumokawa Seria was arguably the most surprised.

"Don't drink until you come of age! Especially you, Musujime-chan! A single girl like yourself needs to stay safe! Kumokawa-chan is safe because… because she… SHE HAS HER BOYFRIEND!"

Once more, Tsukuyomi Komoe broke down into tears.

"There, there…? Boy, oh boy. Sheesh, you can be such a child."

Musujime Awaki had taken the pint-sized teacher into her arms, allowing the Wonder of Academy City to openly weep. Kamijou Touma and Kumokawa Seria could only look to one another, both concerned and completely bewildered.

"My kohai," Seria spoke, turning her attention to Touma, "perhaps it would be better if we took our leave. We've… got things to do, after all, peoples to meet and politick with, and such."

Kamijou Touma nodded in agreement. He struggled to hold his urges in check, as the want or alternatively the need to kiss his senpai crept up behind him like an assailant clad in black hidden by the night.

Komoe obviously couldn't handle bearing witness to such things.

"Oi, Musujime. Could I ask a favor?"

"Am I really in any position to say no, at this point?" Musujime Awaki inquired as she managed to calm the deeply perturbed Tsukuyomi Komoe down, wiping the tiny teacher's tears with her own jumper.

As both he and Kumokawa Seria rose, Kamijou Touma shrugged.

"Yes, you are. You don't either of us anything. All we need is a lift to the Dianoid."

Such was easily done. Awaki simply laid her hand upon Kamijou Touma, and then upon Kumokawa Seria, who offered her a warm and genuine smile. In response, Awaki smiled back as best she could. Awaki's eyelids slid shut, bringing darkness to her vision, where multicolored dots danced from one side to the other.

Awaki's mind, though clouded by thoughts of conspiracy and outright betrayal by a world that had lied to her since her birth about the existence of an element known as "magic" nonetheless belonged to a person who found herself feeling very grateful and considerably enlightened.

With any luck, she'd see Kamijou Touma and Kumokawa Seria again in the future. With any luck, she'd be able to understand her thoughts and cravings a bit better by that point.

* * *

Having found themselves just outside of the Dianoid's great doors, Kumokawa Seria and Kamijou Touma looked from one side to the other. While the latter saw the former – or, more accurately, her perfect legs – the former couldn't see the latter.

At least until she looked down. A gasp of shock escaped from her lips as she fell into a crouch.

"I'm alright," the amorphous, grey-colored mass of machine-phase matter that Kamijou Touma had been reduced to remarked. Just how he spoke in such a form was beyond Seria's comprehension. "I think being teleported must've fucked with my magnetic field, holds me together. Electricity isn't involved in teleportation, right?"

"No. I don't think so, my kohai."

"Alright, everything's A-OK on this end. Magnetic field will reset itself eventually. For now, could you, uh… could you scoop me up, Seria?"

"Of course, come here, I've got you my little kohai. Everything will be okay."

As Kumokawa Seria began to hastily collect the amorphous mass that her kohai had become, cradling the buzzing, surging mess of nanorobotic resin as if she was holding a child in her arms, an unfamiliar voice spoke. Craning her neck to one side, Seria attempted to identify the source of the vocalizations.

"… I heard Kamijou's voice. Where is he…? Kamijou, Kamijou, wherever could you be… Bunny Grey, are you around here? My patience is running out but I'm trying to hold out. Gr. No-good Kamijou."

Clad in a hooded, pick-colored sweater, simplistic gym shorts, a pair of plain, white and otherwise colorless trainers, Karasuma Fran had her right hand outstretched, the side of the opened extremity placed to her forehead. As she moved her head about, two small antennae mounted atop her sweater's hood bobbed from left to right. Pulled over her head, the hood was almost too small for Fran.

"Oi! Karasuma! Here!" The amorphous mass of machine-phase matter exclaimed, speaking in Touma's voice.

"It's me! Here! In the beautiful girl's arms! Yeah, the big grey thing. That's me, long story, don't question it. I'll be fine."

Kumokawa Seria found herself in no position to blush or otherwise become flustered. Still, the compliment was deeply appreciated. She leaned inwards and pressed an affectionate kiss to the mess of machine-phase matter.

"… Kamijou?!" Fran aggressively questioned, one eyebrow rising so much that it looked like it was mere seconds from nearly flying freely from her face and into the sky above.

"Yeah, hi, I know this is awkward but… bear with us for a few minutes. Or was that bare? Ah, forget it. English sucks. Speak Japanese to me."

Fran looked on for a few moments, joining the other confused onlookers who, for various reasons, had decided to loiter outside of the Dianoid.

"Could you people stop staring? Shit! This is embarrassing for me, too! How do you think it feels to be the cyborg equivalent of a beach ball?! Why do these things always happen to me? Such misfortune! At this rate, I'd at least be able to gain sexual gratification from being kicked around by cute girls. Seria…?"

"Maybe this will make you feel better, my little kohai."

Placing the amorphous mass down onto the ground, Kumokawa Seria sat herself down upon it like she was sitting upon an exercise ball. She repeatedly adjusted her position, forcing her posterior to rub all over the ball-Touma, who could only silently retract his previous comment about misfortune. Being kicked around still stood.

Karasuma Fran looked like she'd been scarred for life, while previously enthralled onlookers began to make their way into the Dianoid proper, or simply left the premises altogether, apparently having had enough weird for one day packed into a single moment.

"You've got a nice ass. You should introduce us sometime."

"I know, Touma-kun. Do you like it when I rub my ass all over you?"

"Fuck yeah. As soon as my magnetic field is regenerated, I'm going to grab onto it, and…"

"STOP!" Fran exclaimed, waving her arms in front of her rapidly, closing her eyes shut and screeching like an injured animal. "Inappropriate! I need an adult."

Seria merely offered Fran a wicked smile in response, while ball-Touma chuckled in an almost sinister manner under his nonexistent breath. Karasuma Fran felt like she was in some twisted fever dream.

Before the young woman known as "Beauty-Senpai" in her place of education could continue to torment the evidently easily-traumatized Fran, her smartphone, stuffed into the pocket of her denim jacket began to ring, vibrating against the upper section of her right breast.

"Who now? It would appear as if I'm quite the socialite today," Seria muttered, irritation alive and well in her tone of voice. Seria casually crossed her right leg over her left as she began to bob her foot up and down.

She'd been enjoying herself. Interruptions were undesirable.

Producing the device, Seria accepted the call and placed it to her right ear, forcing the smartphone to remain lodged in place by squeezing it tightly between her head and her right shoulder, securely wedging it. Her facial expression was one of concern.

An unknown caller was rarely a good caller; 'never' was too extreme of a word to be applied in almost any circumstance.

"You've reached Kumokawa Seria. How might I be able to assist you, "Unknown?" I'll have you know I'm not overly fond of "unknowns."

"Hey. Is this… Kumokawa… Seria? Someone, a mutual friend I guess, he said that you're one of his… one of Touma's friends. That's where I got your number from. I don't mean to interrupt, but apparently, he's with you right now. Is that true? If so I need to talk with him. In person. Could you maybe let me know where you are? I won't take too much of your time, I promise."

A feminine voice spoke on the other end of the line, one which Seria didn't recognize. Putting a finger on where exactly she'd heard it before was proving more difficult than it should've been.

Kumokawa Seria could've had any number of reactions. She could've grumbled to herself, she could've sworn that she'd keep this 'newcomer' away from her kohai at all costs, she could've simply clicked her tongue, hung up the phone and pretended like it had been nothing at all. She could've lied to her kohai's face and he likely wouldn't have been the wiser, at least until something would've inevitably bitten Seria's behind, a karmic act of retribution by fate itself.

Instead of taking an action of that sort, she chose the high road. Loving Kamijou Touma meant sharing and sharing was what she would do. There was a possibility that she'd become so used to the concept that monogamy would seem boring and uninspired in comparison.

"Hello! It's a pleasure to hear from one of my kohai's friends. He and I have begun interacting with one another more often, as we… drifted apart some time ago, unfortunately. He and I are just outside of the Dianoid, district fifteen. I'd love to get the chance to meet you; any friend of my kohai's is someone I consider to be a friend of mine. What might your name be, if you don't mind my asking?"

"Misaka… Mikoto…?"

On the other end, the Railgun was completely bewildered. Tsuchimikado Motoharu had delivered quite the warning to her via text message; supposedly, this young woman was an unbearable, cold and ruthless tyrant that was supposed to be capable of giving the likes of Shokuhou a run for her money.

Kumokawa Seria certainly didn't _sound_ unbearable or like a tyrant. She didn't even sound vaguely haughty.

The Railgun was certainly an interesting individual to interact with, and certainly a unique individual amongst seven mentally broken degenerates.

While Misaka Mikoto was engaging in a mental analysis of the 'facts' she'd been provided with, Kumokawa Seria was doing her own considerations. With Karasuma Fran only inches away, speaking in hushed tones to ball-Touma about the issues that were at hand, Seria would have to abandon her perch or exercise caution in what she said.

Misaka Mikoto still hadn't responded. Of both options, the latter seemed like a far more appealing option. Her kohai's amorphous form seemed to be capable of massaging her posterior in a way that threatened to have her panties soaking wet, sooner than later.

Maybe he could suckle every drop of moisture from them while she provided him with a high-quality handjob.

" _Get your head out of the gutter Kumokawa. Snap."_

"Misaka-san? Are you still there? Hi!"

"O-oh, yeah. Sorry, head in the clouds. I'll, uh, I'll be there soon. It was nice talking to you."

"Likewise, Misaka-san. Take care."

Ball-Touma finally managed to restore his form. Carefully, he became whole once more, taking a humanlike shape before numerous layers of extra nanorobotic resin were applied, finishing his return from an amorphous, featureless mass to Kamijou Touma.

Karasuma Fran's eyelids had widened, her lips parting. What had she even seen? Fran took a step back, and then another. She'd nearly lost control of herself, but Fran took hold of the metaphorical wheel once more.

In his new-old form he'd opted to garb himself in a new outfit; rather than wearing an informal suit, Touma was adorned in a simplistic white, short-sleeved top, beige khakis and unremarkable trainers. Almost immediately, either of his hands found their way into his pockets.

"I heard something about Misaka. She comin'?"

In response to her kohai's inquiry, Kumokawa Seria nodded affirmatively. She found herself smiling as he did, shaking his head while he chuckled to himself.

"She's… she's pretty wild. I'll be honest with you, Seria. I love her a lot. Just as much as I love you."

"If she brings you happiness, that's all I can ask for, my little kohai. Don't think I'll be turning my back on my word when the chips are placed down. I intend to remain at your side despite the strangeness of your life. I wouldn't say that I'd support you in the lifestyle choices that you've been offered by your peculiar life of heroics, only to then back out. I make good on my promises, especially those I make to you."

"Misaka Mikoto…?" Fran inquired, more to herself than to anyone else. Sitting herself upon a nearby bench, she looked up at the sky, brushing her hair's fringe away from her eyes as she blinked. "Misaka Mikoto."

" _I miss Kakeru-chan."_

For a while Kamijou Touma, Kumokawa Seria and Karasuma Fran found their way to their respective benches, just outside of the Dianoid. Fran had stretched herself out along the surface of her chosen bench, denying anyone the chance to sit beside or behind her, while Touma and Seria sat together on a bench some distance away from the lethargic-seeming Fran.

While she waited for Tsuchimikado Motoharu's arrival, Seria and Touma waited for Misaka Mikoto's. Presumably, one was going to be faster than the other. Academy City's strongest electromaster could easily outmaneuver a vehicle, whether accessible to the public or privately-commandeered.

It was the waiting that'd eventually gotten the better of Kumokawa Seria. Though she'd had her arm wrapped around her kohai's shoulders from the moment they'd sat down together, her right leg crossed elegantly over her left, she broke down and gave into her urges.

It started with a simple kiss on the cheek. Seria's lips connected with Touma's cold, coppery-tasting cheek. Seria's own cheeks remained pale, naturally-colored. Blood apparently wasn't willing to rush into her face at that moment.

"Oi," Touma vocalized, craning his neck. He leaned forward, peering into his senpai's eyes. He grinned, chuckling under his breath; at the same time, Kumokawa Seria produced soft laughter of her own before she pecked her kohai's cheek once more. "Something you need?"

"You," Seria swiftly elaborated. "You, my little kohai."

As Kamijou Touma's hands found their way to his senpai's legs, two young men passed both Touma and Seria by. They struggled to look away, obviously distraught; that bastard was getting lucky, while neither of them were getting even a single thing. What were they doing wrong? Was it the way they dressed?

As if to rub salt into the boys' proverbial wounds, Touma nodded his head upwards, grinning; he felt like a million bucks.

Seria pressed her lips against her kohai's own, forcing her tongue into his mouth for a few moments.

"A decent way to pass the time, no, Touma-kun?"

"It's alright."

"Oh, my, I'm offended~. Are my kissing skills poor? You are my first after all, forgive me."

Touma carried on, picking up from where his senpai had left off. His lips connected with Seria's own, periodically pulling away before they'd inevitably end up right back from where they'd started. The only sounds in the background were the chatter of passersby and Karasuma Fran's soft snores – apparently, she'd fallen asleep – it was quite the ambiance.

Then, Seria asked a question, one very inappropriate for a 'proper young lady' to be asking. Under her breath, she whispered into her kohai's ear, which her own lips found themselves pressed against.

"I obviously wouldn't seek to now, but… might I…? What I'm trying to ask is if I can suck you off."

"Huh. Now, that's something I never thought I'd hear you say, especially to me. Do I look like I'm about to say no? Like I said… issues with that, but I can get it up no problem. Stays up for as long as you need it to… I sound like I'm trying to sell you something. Are my shilling skills better than your inferior kissing skills?"

Seria feigned offense, reeling away momentarily before she pushed herself back into her kohai, bumping him to the side. Touma chuckled while Seria giggled aloud.

It was just like the olden days, yet, it was different. There was something inherently changed in the moment that Kamijou Touma and Kumokawa Seria had found themselves in.

It was even better. An 'upgrade' had been applied to their relationship.

"You're a terrible shill and you should feel terrible," Seria finally managed to answer, after both she and her kohai managed to calm their respective laughing fits.

Then, she pointed outwards.

"Touma-kun, look. Over there."

Kamijou Touma did just as he was told; then, he found himself being shoved from the bench.

Like an excited child, Kumokawa Seria let go of seriousness and professionalism. She leaped upon her kohai's back, wrapping her arms and legs around his shoulders and his waist respectively. Seria giggled aloud like a ditsy little schoolgirl, her eyelids closed shut as happiness surged throughout her.

"Seria, you make for a cute backpack," Touma teased. This only caused the stunningly beautiful monkey on his back giggle harder. She'd completely let go.

She'd released herself, allowing casual interactions to come to pass.

"And what are backpacks for, my little kohai? For school, obviously. You're welcome to boast about me to your friends anytime."

Seria's kohai was about to reply before audible stimuli captured his attention.

Click, click. Click, click. Click, click. Clack.

It was the repeated, rhythmic sounds of the soles of shoes tapping against the surface of the pavement.

Kamijou Touma looked in the direction of the audible stimuli. He bore witness to yet another beautiful individual who'd deigned to stay at his side, despite (or perhaps because of) her own mental hang-ups.

Adorned in Tokiwadai Middle School's winter uniform, Misaka Mikoto had found herself unable to even look upon the goofy sight that was Kamijou Touma. The third ranked level five rested her face in the palm of her hand, shaking her head from one side to the other.

"Look at you… I have my work cut out for me."

Kumokawa Seria clambered down from her kohai's back, standing professionally at his side, as if she hadn't been engaging in fun, casual behavior mere seconds prior. Softly clearing her throat, Seria folded her arms beneath her bosom and smiled in the Railgun's direction.

"Well met, Misaka-san. My name is Kumokawa Seria; we spoke on the phone earlier this afternoon."

"Hey, Misaka… it's really good to see you. It's… Misaka?"

"Eh? Don't get all weird on me."

Kamijou Touma looked to Kumokawa Seria for a moment. His facial expression was one of questioning. What he apparently felt he needed to ask permission to do was obvious enough to Seria.

He didn't need to ask permission. His body was his own even if he didn't understand it. He was no slave; Kumokawa Seria knew she had to make that clear as day.

"Why look at me?" Seria whispered, her lips mere inches from her kohai's ear. "I know full well what I signed up for, Touma-kun. I Understand your feelings and your romantic situation. I just want to see you happy. Do what makes you happy and I'll be happy. When I'm with you, it's very difficult for me to be anything but pleased, so go on, I'll be waiting."

"Seria…?"

"Touma-kun. You have a harem, there's no need to deny it. In any other situation, I'd likely find myself feeling betrayed but you were honest with me from the beginning. I know precisely what the situation is and I accept it. Becoming close with you again is worth making some minor adjustments to my own views and beliefs, now, be a good boy and go give that unending, overwhelming love of yours to your companion. I'll be right here waiting."

Misaka Mikoto was only just about to ask Kamijou Touma what he and his friend were speaking of, but she was silenced before words could even tumble from her mouth.

He was walking towards her, a smile on his face. She couldn't help but smile back; that boy, who sometimes acted like an Idiot, but wasn't an Idiot, he was nearing her. Coming ever closer. Mikoto's heart skipped a beat at the sight of him.

Mikoto's heart skipped a beat at the sight of him.

Touma quickly closed the distance between himself and the third-ranked level five. As he approached, his footfalls swift and sure, while blood decided of its own will to rush directly into Mikoto's face.

Everything seemed to have become a blur for a moment. More, time seemed to slow around Misaka Mikoto, and it slowed further once the arms of the Misaka Network's Savior were thrown around her waist.

Within the span of a few seconds, which somehow felt like multiple hours, Mikoto was held tightly in Touma's arms. Against her shoulder, Touma's chin came to rest. Either of his hands were placed upon the Railgun's back, their fingers gently and repeatedly running over the surface of her jumper.

"I love you."

"H…u…h?"

"I said, I love you. It feels good to hold you. Look, just give me a few minutes? Humor me, I know this might be embarrassing for you. I need my fix."

Mikoto was awestruck. She'd returned Touma's embrace, her own arms finding their way around his neck. She looked on, her eyes beginning to fill to their brims with warm, salty tears. His friend, "Kumokawa Seria", whoever she was had taken to pestering Karasuma Fran, whom Mikoto certainly hadn't expected. Seria repeatedly pulled the fake esper's hood over her eyes, causing her to flail about like a fish pulled onto dry land by a cruel angler.

Occasionally, she would look to the two, Kamijou Touma and Misaka Mikoto, and she would smile, warmly and genuinely.

Mikoto couldn't even begin to understand what sort of relations they had.

"It's not embarrassing, don't be an Id… don't say nonsensical things. I… I love you too Touma."

"I can't explain how much I love you."

The Railgun struggled, tried and failed to hold back an onslaught of emotions. It was a landslide and she was a hapless hiker with a sprained ankle, powerless to stop it. Mikoto sniffled.

In truth, being loved by him was something she'd sought for a long time. There it was. There he was, telling her exactly what she wanted to hear, and not for the first time.

Yet it was different from her expectations. He allowed himself to seem weak in her presence, he trusted her, and in return she trusted him.

"Y-you're making me c-cry. I love you too… I-I'm… T-Touma, I'm sorry."

"For what? You haven't done anything wrong."

"For always being a terrible friend to you. I'd call you names and try to hurt you, after everything you did for me, for us, for everyone. I…"

Mikoto buried her head in Touma's shirt of machine-phase matter and allowed her tears to flow freely. An all-out offensive by her emotions upon her mind had been unexpected and not prepared for. Misaka Mikoto lost the internal war.

"I'm sorry that I ever yelled at you even once, and I… I'm… I _love_ you."

"Is that the Railgun?!"

"Is she… okay?"

"Who's that boy?"

"Is that her boyfriend?"

Mikoto found herself gritting her teeth. Touma's embrace tightened and he pulled her ever closer, repeatedly kissing the crown of her head.

"I want them to leave me the fuck alone… I really d-didn't intend for our meetup had to be like this. I'm sorry that I'm a mess, you shouldn't have to see me in this way…"

Touma shook his head, no. Even though she couldn't see it, his gentle kisses served to soothe the mess of a girl.

"Bullshit. Just let it all out. C'mon, we'll sit, just let it all out."

They both did just that. Together, Touma and Mikoto sat upon a nearby bench, not bothering themselves with paying attention to passersby.

Soon, Kumokawa Seria joined the level five and the non-human, non-esper existence. Seating herself next to the Railgun, she patted the damaged level five on the shoulder, offering the best sort of comfort that she could.

It was an action that surprised even Kamijou Touma. Apparently, his senpai took notice of his surprise; in response, she offered her kohai a genuine, if thin smile.

"S-so, I'm f-failing pretty hard at m-making a good first impression, aren't I?" Mikoto rhetorically inquired. "Y-you caught me at the w-wrong time, I-I'm nowhere near this much of a pussy on a d-day to day basis. E-emotions suck."

"Altogether nonsense. People who hold back their emotions and choose a course of action in which they bottle their feelings up and keep to themselves tend to become… undesirable individuals, unstable. Cruel. Manipulative. Calculating."

" _Like you, Shokuhou. Curious, it would seem you abandoned your previous course of action… I wonder, did my words get through to you? You're ill, just seek help."_

Misaka Mikoto felt an arm wrap itself around her shoulders. Unnaturally cool, Kamijou Touma completed the embrace, placing his other arm around the front of the Railgun's shoulders. She produced a soft sigh of relief. Slowly but surely her tears slowed.

"Seria's right. Misaka, there's absolutely nothing wrong with finding a nice corner, curling up there and crying like a baby. The important thing to remember is to pick yourself up once you're done, because release is one thing but letting yourself be consumed by despair is another thing entirely."

"Y-yeah. No kidding right? That doesn't change the fact that I'm still a mess and that this is still a _terrible_ way to make a first impression, so, maybe we can try again?"

Misaka Mikoto turned to Kumokawa Seria and extended her hand outwards. A genuinely smiling Seria took the hand of the third-ranked level five into her own and casually shook the extremity.

"I'm Misaka Mikoto. I attend classes at Tokiwadai Middle School!" Mikoto exclaimed, attempting to pump and pick herself up. Straightening her back, the Railgun puffed her chest out. She sniffled once more. Even as her cheeks were red, even as her eyes were bloodshot, Misaka Mikoto smiled as best she could.

"I'm a second year. I'm not too sure of what I'd like to do once I'm out of the educational system, but, I have plenty of time to decide, right? I wouldn't mind being a social worker, I know that sounds ironic given that I look like shit right now… heheh…"

"I'd argue that you look lovely. Besides, aren't you forgetting something, Misaka-san?"

Kumokawa Seria shrugged casually and raised an eyebrow.

"Oh… it's not that big of a deal, really. I'm the Railgun, the third-ranked level five, yeah, but that doesn't matter. Anyone can develop a powerful esper ability with time and dedication, I'm nothing special. I pushed myself hard to get this far. Anyone can! You just need motivation."

Mikoto felt strange, suddenly, like a ten-ton anvil had been dropped inside of her and was weighing down on her stomach.

For some reason, one unknown to the Railgun, a small frown appeared on the facial features of Kumokawa Seria, only for the briefest of moments. Like a storm passing through town, it came and I went. Quickly it was masked, replaced with a thin and pleasant smile.

"Well, I ought to introduce myself then, no? Kumokawa Seria, as you already know. I'm a third-year student at one of Academy City's many lesser-known middle-high schools, a place of education not particularly lavishing or fanciful, but it works I suppose. While not a classmate of Touma-kun, I'm… his senpai."

A contented grin appeared on Seria's face as she spoke the closing words of her brief introduction. She turned her attention to her kohai for a short moment, offering him a wink, before Seria's attention returned to the Railgun.

"Now, didn't you and my kohai have some business to contend with? That business is none of mine. I'll excuse myself and allow the two of you to chat. Should you need me, I'll be politicking with Karasuma-san. Oh, Karasuma-san! Wake uuuupppp!"

"W-wha…? Huh…? O-oh. Please don't speak with me."

"I'm afraid you're stuck with me, Karasuma-san~."

Seria rose from the bench and made her way towards Fran, who'd apparently fallen back asleep. Having rolled onto her back, her soft snoring attracted the concerned, confused and laughing faces of passersby.

While Seria began to pester the fake gemstone, Mikoto pushed herself closer to the boy who'd continued to hold her.

It wasn't like she minded.

"Hey."

"What's up Misaka? Thanks for humoring me. You're… you're really warm."

"Satisfied?"

"Nope. You'll take your cuddles and you'll enjoy 'em."

Mikoto could only shake her head in exasperation. Still, she didn't mind. With a crimson blush emanating from either of her cheeks, the Railgun wrapped her arms around the boy's waist.

"There's something we need to talk about."

Touma shivered in mock-horror before his embrace tightened. His chin was pushed against the Railgun's forehead, and soon his lips followed. Brushing her hair's fringe aside, Touma delicately kissed Mikoto's forehead.

"Uh oh."

"Oh, shut up… I was supposed to have someone else here who wanted to talk about the same thing, but… something came up. She wouldn't tell me what. Tell me something, do you have any memory of someone named "Shokuhou"? "Shokuhou Misaki?"

Kumokawa Seria had caught that. Her ears perked up and she listened on. The exceedingly attractive young woman clicked her tongue in aggravation.

" _You're being used Misaka-san. As for you, Shokuhou, you're completely sick. How could you string this adorable little girl along like this? Are you completely self-absorbed to the extent that you're without even a shred of empathy? I'd always assumed the saying "like father, like son" was exclusive to fathers and their sons… I suppose not. As it would seem, father and daughter can be much alike, as well."_

Seria listened as Kamijou Touma provided his answer to the question.

"Yeah. I remember… bits and pieces. I remember a beach, or was it a swimming pool? All I remember is a girl with blonde hair and weird eyes in a swimsuit. Heh… the smack-out with her purse hurt a bit. Seria used to mess with us, all in good fun, though. Shokuhou would get pretty pissy about it… heheh. I remember us fighting some sort of criminal group called Deadlock, too... they're gone now."

"… gone?"

"They're gone now Misaka. I remember when I had Imagine Breaker, and… that fucking old man. He tried to transform you into some sort of monstrosity. She was… she was the Mental Out girl, right? That's her ability? She was with us, and so was Sogiita. Y'know, he's someone I haven't seen in a while. Good guy."

Misaka Mikoto nodded reluctantly. What had he meant by "they're gone now"? Of course, the true answer was obvious. The Railgun simply didn't want to admit to it.

He'd killed them. Deadlock, who Mikoto had heard so much about through Shokuhou Misaki must've been completely wiped out by Kamijou Touma in an act of reprisal.

She grinned. They deserved it, the bastards.

"Yeah. Shokuhou's ability is Mental Out, she's the strongest mental ability user in Academy City and the sixth strongest esper. She's… she's told me a lot about you, over the last two months. We've grown a lot closer to one another."

"Yeah? That's good. I'm glad you're getting along, there needs to be more friendship in this hellhole."

"Heh… yeah, you can say that again! We were both… we were devastated when we learned that you'd just… up and vanished without a trace. I'm surprised she wasn't pissed; I was right there with you, and I just let you slip out of my fingers. I should've been more responsible."

Kamijou Touma shook his head, no.

"I shouldn't have fallen for such an obvious ruse, this one is entirely on me, Misaka. Never again, I'm not like I was before. I'm smarter, stronger, better. I also think I have an idea as to what you're going to propose."

She raised an eyebrow. The Railgun considered trying to free herself from that boy's embrace, but the desire was weak and pathetic. It'd been born premature and died soon after it'd emerged from her higher mind's proverbial womb.

The way Kamijou Touma held her was perfect. Misaka Mikoto cherished it. She cherished every kiss and every soft, tender word.

"Do you? Feel free to guess then, no harm in it."

Touma offered the Railgun some distance, though his embrace remained. Adjusting his position upon the bench, he looked over his shoulder.

Seria was almost behaving like Index might've. She repeatedly bothered Karasuma Fran, once throwing a small pebble at the fake gemstone's arm while she looked in he opposite direction, her vision following a passenger jet flying overhead. Seria soon joined Fran in her observations.

"I know both you and Shokuhou have been at each other's throats. Because of me. That sounds shallow but it's just the truth."

Mikoto shook her head, no.

"It's not shallow."

As if to reward her, Kamijou Touma pressed a kiss to Misaka Mikoto's forehead.

"Shokuhou and I had a past, then you came into the picture and we had and still have something. If Shokuhou and me had a past then we have a present, Misaka. She tried to get closer, I know that now only because I have access to the memories I'd lost, and you pushed her away, which you did no wrong by doing that. You didn't even intentionally do that."

"No? What else was I supposed to do? She wasn't fit to be involved with you, I think she knew it too. That's on top of the memory issue, but I only learned about that recently."

"Don't feel like you've got to defend yourself. It's only natural. So, now that you and Shokuhou have come to an agreement, having become closer to one another after everything you've been put through lately… you've decided that "sharing is caring", am I right?"

"Right." Mikoto could only accept that Touma had her figured out.

He brushed locks of her hair away from her forehead, gently running his icy cold fingertips over the Railgun's skin. Mikoto shivered, both in nervousness and in pleasure, rolled together to create a truly volatile concoction that brewed within her.

"Maybe not the most ideal outcome for either party, but for you, it's one that's for the greater good."

"… right? Was that just a wild guess, or…?"

"Wild guess, and using circumstances, both old and new to slap a very vague theory together, one which happened to be correct."

Mikoto shrugged her shoulders; as if to respond to the movements she'd performed, Touma forced his nanorobotic form to relent and release the Railgun from its grip. He attempted to rest his hand upon the Railgun's leg, but she quickly caught the boy's hand and moved it away.

"Uh… n-no. Sorry, not quite comfortable with that sort of thing."

Touma distanced himself from the Railgun by some few inches. He clicked his tongue; he wasn't irritated with Mikoto, hardly. He was irritated with himself. That hadn't been the smartest move he'd ever made.

"Understood, my bad. Moved too fast."

"It's fine, it's not like you tried to grope me or something. Just have to lay down the line, right? Prevent misunderstandings!"

"Right."

"I don't really want to propose anything more, not without Shokuhou," Mikoto remarked, either of her cheeks becoming slightly redder than before. Blood was rushing into her face at a quickened rate as she spoke.

"But I did want to go over it with you, and in p-person. I d-don't think this is the kind of subject that can be discussed over the phone or over text, it's pretty personal."

Touma nodded his head in affirmation. With a chuckle, he rested either of his arms behind his neck, forcibly ensuring that they remained in place and away from the appealing body of Misaka Mikoto.

"Funny thing, I just recently came to an agreement of sorts with Seria, my senpai. Would that change anything with you and Shokuhou?"

Academy City's mightiest electromaster breathed a sigh.

"I think it would. That definitely makes things a bit more complicated… hah. Well, that's alright! Complications are bound to happen when you're dealing with something like this, right? I probably should've seen it. A lot of girls like you after all…"

She wanted to keep the conversation from becoming an awkward sigh-fest. There was a sense of concern within Mikoto, that was certain, but not necessarily disappointment. The much-discussed "agreement" between she and Shokuhou brought her closer than ever before to reaching "that level" with the boy. Besides, Shokuhou would be doing most of the legwork until she could be a reliable partner. Maybe psychotherapy was the avenue to pursue?

Mikoto gave her head a shake as if she had to physically move her head in order to adjust and catalog her thoughts. If being part of a harem, as ludicrous as it sounded, was the only path to finding love with that boy, Kamijou Touma, then a harem she would be a part of. Living polygamously with Shokuhou wouldn't have been all that far off from being part of a harem; it was merely an increase in numbers.

Then again, that too would make for considerably more feelings to consider; but that was alright. She was a reasonable person, most of the time. Absolutely! Mikoto could get along with the likes of the silver-haired nun, and even that purple-haired girl who swung that big spear all over the place.

Misaka Mikoto could hardly believe she'd just thought something of the sort. Only a year prior such a thing would've seemed like a complete impossibility.

"So, T-Touma, what are you and Kumokawa-san up to? Just hanging out? Looks to me like you're waiting for someone."

Kamijou Touma didn't verbally respond. He looked to Mikoto for a moment's time, offering her a pleasant smile, one which the Railgun returned, her cheeks crimson in coloration.

He was so deeply relieved that she was no longer crying. Seeing her like that tore a proverbial hole in him and it reminded the Imagine Breaker's former Bearer of darker times.

There was a decision to make and Touma knew it. He could lie through his teeth and send the Railgun on her way when it'd long been blatantly obvious that she'd wanted to be at his side and help him, or he could let Misaka Mikoto in and welcome that help. He could welcome her into his arms, into his life. He could provide for her what she'd wanted for so long.

He could truly offer Misaka Mikoto the happiness she quested to achieve.

The choice was made, and Kamijou Touma was just about to speak his piece before a series of vocalizations interrupted that process, forcing it to a grinding halt.

"Well, well, well. Look at you Kami-yan! You've got more members of your harem, huh? Biribiri-chan… Kumokawa _-san_ , and it looks like even Karasuma's been afflicted by Kami Disease. You just don't know when to quit, do you? Stealing other people's girls? For shame, Kami-yan! For shame!"


	18. The Mission I

If Kamijou Touma had possessed veins filled with blood, said crimson liquid would've been boiling.

The sight of Tsuchimikado Motoharu casually approaching the quartet, hands stuffed into his pockets, head held high made Touma want to vomit.

He was so disgustingly smug, so horribly self-obsessed.

Tsuchimikado Motoharu, the Backstabbing Blade knew exactly what he was and he didn't care even a little bit; if everything was convenient for him, everything was going per whatever sick, deranged plan or plans he'd set in motion.

Unfortunately for Touma, vomiting in disgust just wasn't an option that was possible. He'd have to settle for eying the Backstabbing Blade warily, fighting back the urge to strike the bastard dead where he stood.

It seemed that Misaka Mikoto was thinking similar thoughts to the boy who'd been holding her tightly, like a child clinging to the bosom of their mother. Had the spy seen the display of affection? He could easily hold such an act over the Railgun's head. Perhaps he would threaten to spread rumors throughout the halls of Tokiwadai if she didn't comply?

He seemed more than capable of such a thing.

Then again, she could always just zap the life out of the sunglasses-wearing, spiky-haired boy if he proved to be too much of a problem.

"Everyone's so quiet. What's with the cold shoulder? It's almost like you're not happy to see us."

"Us?" Both Touma and Mikoto inquired at once. Tsuchimikado Motoharu grinned like a shark that'd come across easy prey in a vast and open body of water.

Around the corner walked a lanky man, arms swinging limply at his sides as he tiredly engaged in locomotion; it looked as if even walking was a chore for this fellow, whose eyes were sunken and circled by darkened bags.

His hair was ashen and his face was pocked by acne, along with the scars left behind by his apparent attempts at physically annihilating sections of said acne that dotted his cheeks and his forehead. Atop the blemishes, light ashen facial hair dotted his cheeks, his chin, and his upper lip.

Clad in a cheap-looking ready-made suit and a pair of informal dress shoes, the bottoms of which clacked repeatedly against the paved walkway leading up to the Dianoid's many northernmost entranceway doors, Oculus Operative David Horton soon managed to catch up to the Backstabbing Blade.

Attached to his hip was a holstered firearm, a handgun.

The older man flashed a strange-looking badge and then tiredly, almost lethargically pocketed it before he spoke.

"Evening, Kamijou… and company. Gladio-Oculus Operative David Horton. You weren't joking, then, Tsuchimikado."

Tsuchimikado Motoharu crossed his arms and nodded affirmatively.

"No, Operative, I wasn't. It's a real disease. Its effects are still being studied, so far it only seems to have any sort of effect on girls who Kami-yan has helped. He can't passively attract girls, not yet at least. Field Agent Aogami and I will report back when we have more information. For now, we should consider Kami-yan to be a continued threat to the gene pool!"

David Horton shook his head as if he was in a state of disbelief. He moved about, leaving Motoharu to produce his phone, which he began to tap the touchscreen of, while the Oculus Operative approached the group, consisting of Misaka Mikoto, Kumokawa Seria, Karasuma Fran and Kamijou Touma. The first of the quartet couldn't have been any more confused.

Kamijou Touma chose that moment to speak his piece to the level five electromaster.

"So, Misaka. Look, something's about to go down and it involves… the "Other Side". Davey here can explain his part in all of this on his own, I'm sure, but I have a question. It's not a trick question and there's no wrong answer, just say what you're feeling. Are you in? Not only would your firepower be a good support for our little team here, if we find ourselves needing firepower, but…"

Mikoto suddenly scooted towards the boy who'd seated himself next to her and placed either of her hands' palms upon his icy cheeks.

"Of course I'm "in", I don't care what it is, I'm in. T-thanks… for including me and giving me the chance to stick with you. I appreciate it. I've never been more "in"… well, in my life! I'm with you, all the way, whatever that might be, Touma. I'm with you, and I'm not letting go."

Kumokawa Seria giggled as she seated herself between both Kamijou Touma and Misaka Mikoto, crossing her right leg over her left and abandoning an unconcerned Karasuma Fran.

"Now isn't this just the sweetest thing? Let senpai in, hm? I'd like to share in the love~."

"Ahem. We have little time for games and I'd rather not lose my lunch. T'was expensive."

"Fuck you, Davey."

The tired-looking Oculus Operative shrugged his shoulders; both he and Kamijou Touma exchanged grins. Evidently, there was little in the way of malice between the two.

"So, I presume you're all familiar with Tsuchimikado here? Hard not to be, he's so personable," Horton spoke, taking a seat upon the bench which Fran had originally spread herself out on. The fake gemstone scooted to the other side.

"I can hear you, you old, special care home-bound suckup," Motoharu retorted. "I'm going to slap down the last piece of this Field. Keep the goonies entertained while I work, huh?"

From the pocket of his pants, the Backstabbing Blade produced a singular card, apparently cut from a sheet of thick cardboard. Slapping it down upon the pavement before him, Motoharu then casually left the site where the card had been placed.

Instantaneously, the card glowed, and so did many others scattered about the vicinity of the Dianoid, set in place by the combined efforts of Tsuchimikado Motoharu and Oculus Operative David Horton.

The backstabbing Blade nodded affirmatively after he muttered a short chant, hands clasped before him.

"Done."

A People-Clearing Field was activated. Those beyond a small semicircle of rune-dotted cards that surrounded the northernmost section of the Dianoid were compelled to take their leave, as were a small group of those who remained within, not counting the individuals relevant to the meeting between the realms of magic and science.

Those compelled would sense nothing out of the ordinary nor would they even remember any compulsions that'd temporarily taken over the "controller" of their collective higher minds.

"Are you two young ladies aware of the existence of "the Oculus"?

Horton looked to Misaka Mikoto and Kumokawa Seria, conveniently neglecting to include Karasuma Fran, who continued to lay upon 'her' bench, casually sprawled out like an old rug.

"I'd normally have the bunch of you sign non-disclosure waivers, but... it's all common knowledge now, to an extent. Thank that... what're they called? Multipurpose Arachnid? Something. We're-"

"You're G-men," Touma interjected, effectively completing Horton's sentence for him. Motoharu chuckled. Having taken a seat next to Fran, he casually leaned forward, clasping his hands as he rocked himself back and forth, his legs responsible for most of the unconscious, habitual movement.

"You want the real facts? Look, the Oculus is a subgroup involved with Gladio, which… fuck, if any of you think that Academy City is secretive, Gladio brings a whole new level to paranoia. 'Could teach me a thing or two. Black operation. Political assassinations, reconnaissance in Vatican City. Were involved in the Third World War, I mean… hell, Davey here may or may not have been involved with the Gladio team that sniped that motherfucker Krainikov. None of this is common knowledge if you go looking in the right places. Useful Spider kicked your asses. Hard. Let's try not to let that happen again, eh, Davey?"

"Useful Spider", that's their name... regardless, the guts and the glory for that trophy go to the UN," David Horton asserted casually. From his pocket, he produced a pack of cigarettes and a small zippo. He offered a cancer stick he produced from within the pack to the fake gemstone who shook her head rapidly. With a shrug of his shoulders, Horton lit the collection of deadly chemicals and brought it up to his lips.

"Though Academy City's Gladio may or may not have been involved, I can't confirm or deny Gladio's involvement or the involvement of the Oculus in Kremlin affairs. Privateers being knocked off wasn't us, either, that I can safely confirm. Don't know who did it and nobody involved really cares, so I don't care. That's not important. Dead Russian presidents aren't our concern, not now."

It was Misaka Mikoto's turn to speak. She wasn't about to be left in the dark. If it wasn't her turn, she would make it her turn.

"Then what is?"

"A possible attempt at an aggressive, highly provocative and hostile invasion of Academy City by a magical cabal. The same many believe to be the same cabal responsible for more than a few civilian casualties in Hawaii, lead by… of all things… a twelve-year-old child. "The Dawn-Colored Sunlight". She's the lesser of two evils..."

"Except there's no proof of that," Motoharu asserted. He craned his neck to face David Horton, who looked right back at the Backstabbing Blade, raising an ashen eyebrow. He took a drag from his portable death sentence and puffed out a plume of silvery smoke.

"There's not a shred of evidence. Dawn-Colored Sunlight is a convenient scapegoat being utilized by a certain bitch; the fact that ruling over both "Sides" is one of the cabal's endgame goals suggests that, at some point or another, they'd attempt to overthrow Academy City's leadership, given that it's the greatest hub of power in the scientific world. Again, all convenience, anecdotal evidence, and very little solid proof. Could be anyone, it could be the work of Santa Claus for all we know. As for "two evils", we've got a trump card for one, at least. Deep Blood. Disarming is important, but, no evidence that they're behind any sort of invasion attempts."

Kamijou Touma rose from his seat, startling Misaka Mikoto who'd become lost in thought and disappointing Kumokawa Seria, who'd only just started to get used to having another girl near her precious little kohai.

Looking at Misaka Mikoto, she was a diamond in the rough of the moment. She was simply so cute! Seria could almost see herself cuddling the little thing up.

"Deep Blood...? You... you leave Himegami the **fuck** out of this, or you're as good as dead. All I'm saying about that."

"I'm terrified, Kami-yan. Oooh. Please, spare me."

Ignoring Tsuchimikado Motoharu completely, Kamijou Touma looked to David Horton.

"Then, that's where we come in, and Davey here. Davey can book just about anyone in this City, illegal immigrant or otherwise. Oculus has higher authority than even Anti Skill and far more than Judgment. Put the problem in chains and haul 'em off, whoever they are. Go from there."

"Might there be violence involved?" Kumokawa Seria inquired. Reaching into the pocket of her jacket, she looked over either of her shoulders before she produced something that made Kamijou Touma start, ever so slightly. Even if its ammunition couldn't come close to even meaningfully wounding him, the reaction was one of surviving, lingering instinct.

Seria held in her right hand a concealed weapon. Only three or four inches in length, the tiny revolver sat comfortably in the woman's palm.

"I'm more than prepared to use this, should the situation call for it. I'd much prefer to lodge bullets than take them, especially in my legs. I'm going to be needing those for more than one reason. I could demonstrate in a private environment if you wish; my shot is among the best in all of Academy City, I assure you."

David Horton seemed to have the least volatile reaction of the six individuals present, with Fran's own subdued "oh," coming as a close second place contender for the first. Motoharu merely clicked his tongue and Mikoto moved herself a few inches away from the older girl.

Rather than reacting vocally at all, the Oculus Operative merely nodded his head, yes.

"It's never a bad idea to carry a piece, Kumokawa-san. Illegal to possess or to own or not it can save your life. Guns don't kill people, after all. Rich people have poor people kill people. With guns."

" _Would've tried to stop the hit if I could've, Misuzu. Good doing that someone managed to. Nice woman like you didn't deserve any of that… bullshit. Sure as Hell don't deserve a deadbeat husband, either."_

The Oculus Operative cleared his throat before he continued, shaking off his own mental considerations.

"We've done just about enough dawdling. If there aren't anymore… friends… of yours that are going to show up, Kamijou, we should get going. Academy City's crooked interests aren't going to protect themselves."

The oldest among the group set the example. Turning his back, the lanky David Horton began to walk, eventually passing beyond the corner from which he and the Backstabbing Blade had come.

"At Tsuchimikado's request, I've sourced some vehicles for your respective uses. Your taxes at work. This is the sort of thing the average student pays for… they're being contained in school district seventeen. Should ring a bell or two for you, Kamijou, Misaka-san."

"Don't fucking go there Davey, not even if you're joking."

"I wasn't."

Soon, the quartet followed behind Tsuchimikado Motoharu, who spoke only to Karasuma Fran who'd joined him, taking to his side.

Misaka Mikoto's eyes widened. Kamijou Touma clicked his tongue of nanorobotic resin, and Kumokawa Seria produced a soft, concerned-sounding "tsk".

The vehicle was darker than any darkness the trio had previously seen. It was so dark in coloration that the two human espers and the non-human construct of machine-phase matter could see their reflections in the darkness, as if the abyss was staring back at them.

With thick, bulletproof tires whose rims were as shadowy as the thickest blankets of night, the vehicle which David Horton, Tsuchimikado Motoharu, and Karasuma Fran climbed into was hardly a 'casual' vehicle, nor was it inconspicuous. It was highly, highly conspicuous.

While the Backstabbing Blade and the fake gemstone had entered through the vehicle's opened rear doors, the Oculus Operative had clambered upwards and into the driver's side seat.

"There's no way I'm getting into that thing," Mikoto stated, putting her foot down. The electromaster folded her arms across her chest and shook her head, no, to further accentuate her point.

"Forget it. Neither of you can possibly be comfortable with this either. Please tell me you have my back. One of you, at least… Kumokawa-san? You seem reasonable! You agree, right?"

"It's not that big of a deal, Misaka," Touma commented.

"Right," Seria chimed in.

"Of course you don't, Touma… oh, come o… wait, you do? You're with me on this one?"

"I do and I am. I have a solution; my kohai and I arrived in my own vehicle. We'll simply shadow behind Horton-san, Tsuchimikado-san, and Karasuma-san."

The third-ranked level five wiped her arm across her brow and stumbled forward, apparently very relieved. Kamijou Touma protectively stood before her, ready to catch her, but Mikoto merely steadied herself in response, straightening her back and producing a victorious proclamation of "denied!" Touma hung his head in mock defeat.

With Kumokawa Seria temporarily distracted, approaching the driver's side of the pitch black vehicle, more than likely to explain her course of action to David Horton, the vehicle's driver, Misaka Mikoto and Kamijou Touma found themselves alone. Seria had even apparently acknowledged this, by repeatedly shaking her head in disapproval while wagging her finger. In contrast, her lips had curled upwards into an almost dastardly-seeming grin. She winked, once, but chose not to do so again.

"You can back out anytime you want, Misaka. I won't be mad or anything. Why would I be? That'd just be dumb as a sack of bricks."

"Forget it. Enough of you playing the lone gunman, it's time for you to start letting other people help you with these crazy tasks that, for whatever reason, are always thrown your way. I'm helping you and that's that. I…"

"I'm grateful for it, I want your help Misaka. You're reliable and you're a partner I can trust when I'm working with you, just like Seria."

"I… waitwhatholdon. You're… you're just full of surprises! Heh, you really have turned over a new leaf, haven't you? Sorry for... uh... jumping to conclusions. I've got some more work to do on myself."

"Don't even worry about it, Misaka. I turned one over because I had to. For you and for all the other people in my life who love me and want to help me, the people I love right back. The people I've been pushing away for too long."

"You're g-going to make me c-cry again. K-knock it off, would you?"

"Sorry. Let's hug and make up."

"Since when have you been so cuddly, Touma? Alright, I think I can manage that. Come over here, ya big ol' bear."

* * *

February 10th, 2004. PM. 2:08 AM.

There was silent, wordless chaos in one of few run-down, cheap and poorly-maintained motels that dotted the Welsh hamlet of Catherdine.

A silent scream had been uttered in a dream; it failed to reach out to the world beyond a certain girl's dreaming mind.

There was infinite suffering within the maw of madness, and all screams bounced against its never-ending walls.

There were many eyes and there were many maws with gnashing teeth. Each spoke in seven tongues and an eighth that she could not comprehend. Soft and alluring, horrid and gurgled, stern, like the voice of a disapproving father, and even the tones a small child would produce were among the many thousands of voices that rang out inside of her higher mind.

" _You abandoned them."_

" _You killed them."_

" _You are a killer."_

" _Your loved ones have abandoned you."_

" _You're alone."_

" _Leave."_

" _Shatter the circle."_

_"Leave, your kind is not wanted. You do not offer Drink. You are no friend."_

" _The Majin will pay for their arrogance. They have forgotten the Old Gods. They have forgotten what we can do. All of them have forgotten the Old Gods. We will be forgotten no more. They occupy our lands and they offer no Drink."_

" _We were here first. We will not have it."_

" _Just break."_

" _You couldn't save her. You turned to the power which should not be. You turned to those who should not be. You called out and they answered. We could have helped."_

" _D I E."_

" _In the shadow of death only the living tread. Hunted. Butchered. Devoured. They mate they feed they kill and they repeat the circle. But together we can break the circle. They are cruel for they pillage our lands. Do not steal from us."_

" _The blind lead the blind in this trail of infinite pain. Free yourself and BREAK."_

" _Such a quandary… now wake up, human. Begone from the Sacred Lands. Begone, begone, begone. Vjsavsh beneath Holy Walled City K'thon beneath the Walled City Nrzuth beneath the Old Kingdom. Lest you come with Drink, begone."_

She'd awoken in a cold sweat, lunging up from her fluffy, luxurious pillow. Wrapped in the sheets of the run-down motel's double king-sized bed, which she had to herself, Leivinia Birdway's brow felt as cold as ice. Like an overheating canine, she panted, struggling to reign in her quick and shallow breaths.

Leivinia's heart was beating far too quickly for its own good.

Panic. White-hot and undeniable. It besieged her very mind.

Softly, she began to cry.

Warm, salty tears dripped down her cheeks as she shook, whimpering like a child lost in a shopping center.

The horrors that had taken place in the ethereal realm of dreams were fading quicker than Leivinia could recall them; she pieced together moments of agonized screams, the bleeding and carved-up form of her sister Patricia Birdway with many a great, inky tendril protruding from her carcass, upon which buzzards had been feasting. Their eyes had been as red as the lifeblood that dripped from Patricia's damaged cadaver.

She remembered one thing more clearly than most, however. "Old Gods". The many voices, the snarling, gnashing maws, the infinite blinking eyes, they were everywhere, like so many larvae laid by a mosquito in a calm body of water.

Leivinia Birdway stayed where she was not wanted.

Upon a nightstand, next to the great bed, a dusty, damaged old lap was flicked on, providing synthetic illumination to the small, darkened room.

"Th… Thepes. I-Iosephus. H-h… help."

"My Lady."

"Enough, it's only the two of us here. Drop the facade and address me properly."

"… right. Apologies, I found myself distracted by your peril, Leivinia. You've given me quite the scare."

She reached out for him. Leivinia Birdway had stopped being the leader of one of the world's mightiest magical cabals.

Instead, she became a child reaching out to a trusted guardian figure. Instincts savagely beat her overwhelming pride into the dust, bloodying and bruising it with savage brutality.

Leivinia was lifted from her bed and caressed like the child she was.

Wrapping her arms around her "caretaker's" shoulders, Leivinia Birdway only seemed to sob harder. She buried her crying face in the demon hunter's suit jacket. She bit her lower lip and tried to push back the tears. Paradoxically, the harder she pushed, the stronger the resistance. Her body and mind rebelled.

Iosephus Thepes the demon hunter supported his leader and "charge's" form with his arms, his hand placed against the back of her head. Carefully he ruffled the twelve-year-old girl's hair as he looked on, past the first of two king-sized beds and towards the motel room's meager kitchen, consisting of little more than a counter and a sink, with only a few plastic cups scattered about. Hardly a lodging suitable for _the_ Leivinia Birdway.

"Maybe you should tell me what troubles you. A nightmare? There's little to be ashamed of, such occurrences plague us all."

"Q-quiet down… and hold me. J-just hold me."

And that's precisely what the demon hunter did.

Leader and subordinate changed their places on the stage they constantly danced across, taking on the roles of charge and guardian figure. In the process of being lovingly held and silently comforted, Leivinia Birdway's tears slowed. Her sobbing quieted and her grip on her guardian's neck choked him considerably less than it had at first.

It had been only mildly painful, but Iosephus Thepes struggled through the irritation for his dear one, the child he'd never had.

Soon, Leivinia had been placed down upon the carpeted flooring, her cold, bare feet twitching as they struggled to warm themselves.

Still, she couldn't face him and she couldn't face herself. Leivinia kept her face buried within her guardian's suit jacket.

Then, she sniffled awkwardly. Leivinia attempted to speak, but her throat had tightened. No words could seem to emerge and barely any oxygen could be taken into her lungs.

"S-si… sister."

"Sister, Leivinia? Your sister? A nightmare about your sister?"

She nodded. Her shoulder-length hair, golden, yet almost as white as snow flowed majestically, even though she neither looked nor felt even remotely majestic. She inhaled, attempting to steady herself.

And then she failed. She completely and utterly failed.

Leivinia found a new round of pained sobs wracking her body.

Iosephus could stand it no longer. He sat both himself as well as his broken leader and "charge" upon the edge of the bed. Forcing her to look at him, Iosephus peered into Leivinia's bloodshot eyes. He ran his fingers below the beautiful orbs, attempting to stem the flow of tears that seemed dead set on dripping down her cheeks.

Even filled to the brim with bright red veins, dripping with clear, salty liquid agony, Leivinia Birdway's eyes were still so beautiful. They were like two priceless gems, both flawless and immaculate in their design, naturally stunning.

Desperate, the reeling mind of Leivinia Birdway demanded that she find comfort in her guardian figure and elder. Taking either of Iosephus Thepes' larger hands into her own, she sniffled and growled, trying to beat back the onslaught of tears.

"Please tell me what happened in your nightmare, dearest Leivinia. I can only help you if you tell me what happened. We'll work through it together, like we always do… I know it to be painful beyond measure, but Patricia is alive and well. She's as fit as a fiddle in fact. Maybe you'd like to give her a call and speak with her when you're feeling better? I'm sure that Patricia misses you as well. Here, allow me to fetch you a glass of…"

"Please DON'T g-go. Let me be v-vulnerable f-for a moment… don't go. I'm not letting go. It n-needs to come out. I c-can't hold all of this in."

"It's very mature of you to realize that, dearest Leivinia."

She couldn't look at him. Leivinia looked down towards the floor beneath her feet, towards the exquisite, silky garb she wore as a nightgown.

If any of her operatives were to see her in such a state, she would lose all respect. A leader needed to be strong-willed and mighty, fearless and without hesitation. A leader needed to be everything that Leivinia wasn't, in the moment.

Leivinia Birdway inhaled. As her body shook, she spoke.

"It… it was horrible. It was Patricia, infested with… it. "Sample Shoggoth". You were not there. No one was there except for myself and Patricia. She… she cried out for my aid and I could do nothing to protect her. I had to watch as she was eaten… I-Iosephus, it ATE her… and then… something else. "Old Gods".

For a moment, he panicked; but he beat the urge back, keeping it in line, bending it to his will.

Old Gods or no Old Gods, Iosephus Thepes would not allow his emotions to get ahead of him. Proverbially and literally, he stood his ground. He was irrelevant, an unimportant factor. It was her that mattered.

Temporarily parting from his charge, the demon hunter proceeded to fill up a small, plastic cup with water from the nearby "kitchen", if it could truly be called that. While not the heavily-filtered and mineral-enriched water she was used to, water was water. Leivinia's voice was hoarse, and it cracked repeatedly as she struggled to utilize her vocal cords.

Iosephus Thepes offered his charge and leader the cup, which she took with a meek vocalization of "thank you". Leivinia raised the cheap, flimsy thing to her lips and drank deeply.

"I do comprehend just how horrid such an experience must've been, dearest Leivinia – dreams can sometimes seem so real that there can be difficulty in separating dreams from reality – but it was only that, a night-terror. Patricia survived her infestation, and we will not permit for such a thing to occur again. As for them, the… "Forgotten Ones", you would do well not to speak of them often, dearest Leivinia. They Hear. They feed on one's thoughts as you or I feed on a meal."

Leivinia pulled the cup away; it nearly crumpled in the vice grip of her little right hand.

"P-Patricia is only okay because… because you were there! You saved her, not me! Without you, Patricia would be DEAD. Even with all of the power I possess, I was unable to protect my sister, the only surviving blood-related family member I still have!"

"You would have found a way."

"No, I d-don't think so. I tried EVERYTHING. My uniquely developed... my worthless cannibalism magic could have taken my own life, while "Sample Shoggoth" claimed Patricia's… we instead turned to that profane stuff you throw around. It was you. You saved her, not me."

Iosephus Thepes knelt before his charge, the Dawn-Colored Sunlight's leader. Taking her smaller hands into his own larger hands, he offered her a warm, comforting smile, one which caused the twelve-year-old to smile back, despite the tears that still dripped down her cheeks.

"Your strength comes not in the form of suppressing your emotions, but releasing them when the time is right. You've done right by allowing your tears to flow, and as much as it pains me so very deeply to see you distressed, a release is important. You and I know that all too well, dearest Leivinia… but it's past two o'clock in the morning. You should really think about tucking yourself back in. I will turn off the light and re-take my post. If…"

"Stay?"

"Stay? Stay where dearest Leivinia? Here, at your bedside? As you wish."

"No. I mean…"

She produced a soft sigh. Leivinia pulled either of her legs up and crawled back into the sheets, bundling herself up like a caterpillar about to undergo the first cocooning stages of metamorphosis.

"I want to be held. I don't feel good, my stomach hurts. Just hold me until I go back to sleep. Just come here and… help me."

Iosephus Thepes didn't quite know what he thought about such a command.

Regardless of the fact that he, the close personal friend of the absurdly wealthy and highly aristocratic Birdway family been caring for both Leivinia and Patricia Birdway since the day that they were born, the day that Rose Birdway died in labour, the day that her father Archibald had been driven too mad by his grief to care for his twin daughters, there was something inside of his mind that told him to keep his distance. Such was dangerous. There were lines not meant to be crossed.

"I'll remain atop the covers."

"Fine. Stubborn, old..."

Eventually, the demon hunter managed to settle himself in atop the comforter and sheets of the bed. He laid next to Leivinia, who'd rolled onto her side, while he remained on his back. Apparently, resting his hand atop and gently massaging her shoulder, covered by numerous sheets and the bed's comforter was a fair substitute for cuddling.

At one point Iosephus Thepes had thought that the Dawn-Colored Sunlight's leader, his charge had fallen asleep. Rolling onto his side to face her, Iosephus' suit jacket and dress pants crinkled, while the comforter beneath shifted in place.

"I can't sleep."

"Try, dearest Leivinia. Try to sleep."

Instead, she defied her guardian and rose from her place in the bed, where she'd been laying for close to a half hour and threw herself down upon the surface of the comforter. Leivinia laid either of her arms beneath the right side of her face and squirmed.

"You should massage my back. That might help me get back to sleep… in the meantime, now that I've managed to compose myself, there are important matters to discuss."

The haughty leader of the Dawn-Colored Sunlight had returned; gone was the needy twelve-year-old girl.

Gone too would be the father figure; the servile underling would return from his short hiatus.

Going against his better judgment and performing the action he'd been commanded to perform, Iosephus Thepes pushed the upper half of Leivinia's nightwear upwards while he gently, but firmly pushed his digits into the 'proper' sections of his leader's back. She occasionally shuddered and cooed in pleasure before and while she spoke.

"The magic touch… good boy. There're a few topics I'd like to cover. Firstly, the potential training of additional demon hunters within our ranks would be a… a little bit higher, please? Mm. Right there. Thank you. That'll do for now. See, with more demon hunters, we will be able to compete with the might of the Vatican. Summon an army of demons from that… "Dark Beyond" of yours if you must. I want the Vatican City, and I want it as soon as possible. We've shambled about enough. Summon forth one of those... "Cataklian" demons of yours. Surely, such a foul thing could break Vatican City's walls, no matter how old, no matter how holy."

"So, with that in mind, you'd like to continue with our plans to besiege Vatican City, my Lady? Truth be told, calling forth a child of BLIL would be strenuous and unwise," Iosephus spoke, moving downwards along his leader's back and then upwards, causing Leivinia to shudder further. "Such a demon would level more than Vatican City. The entirety of Europe would likely be annihilated before the beast could be slain."

Leivinia's eyes were growing heavy and a sensation like that of butterflies fluttering about chaotically within Leivinia's stomach danced throughout her. She blinked back the desire to sleep.

"Fine. I trust your judgment, Thepes... I would, regardless, like to continue with the siege effort. Taking Vatican City would be a difficult but rewarding move. Provocative, certainly, but in the end, I believe we'll be looking at conflict with the English Puritan, and Roman Catholic Churches regardless of moving against Vatican City. Conquer magic first, science second. Academy City will be a much greater opponent than Vatican City and even the Churches. We'd also do well to be prepared for the Russians to stand in solidarity with the Anglicans and Roman Catholics… if the Orthodox can't be won over, well, then they'll just have to be destroyed."

Leivinia Birdway temporarily halted her speech and turned back to look at Iosephus Thepes.

"Shoulders, now. A bit tougher, as well. Rub my neck while you're at it."

"Of course, my Lady."

Situating himself atop his leader, the demon hunter rested either of his hands against her shoulders and gently, but firmly began to rub the kinks from them. A chill ran down Leivinia's spine, her fingers and toes wiggling unconsciously as she cooed.

"Striking out against the Russians, and therefore Annihilatus might not be wise, dearest Leivinia."

After taking another sip from her cup of water, Leivinia posed a simple question to her caretaker, guardian figure and adoptive 'father'.

"Why?"

Moving his hands away from his leader's shoulders, Iosephus set his thumbs gently into the back of Leivinia's neck, massaging, and causing the child-leader to coo in pleasure.

Then, he answered.

"They are a powerhouse."

"What is your point? So are we, Thepes. With myself and you at the helm of the Sunlight, we're an insurmountable force. With many trained demon hunters and demons brought from your "Dark Beyond", the Russians would be lucky to survive our onslaught."

"Compared to Necessarius which finds itself divided by the scheming of its Archbishop, Annihilatus remains unfractured and a whole organization, capable of quickly and efficiently dishing out punishment. Necessarius could be overtaken and dismantled with a surprise surgical strike, delivered by a small but effective death squad of demon hunters; Annihilatus wouldn't be so easily outmaneuvered. Additionally, the training of additional demon hunters would do little, as Annihilatus more than likely possess countermeasures for the Daemoniac."

As she always did, Leivinia had an answer.

"Then we'll negotiate. Iosephus, I'd like more demon hunters to be trained. They would compliment our current array of shock troopers and supporting units very well. There are many Neophytes, Acolytes and even those who follow our resident Saint are interested."

Leivinia Birdway knew of one way to get Iosephus Thepes to break. It was simple, manipulative and it preyed on paternal instincts. While regrettable, it was simply one of those situations in which mind couldn't be paid to sentimentalism.

Craning her neck to face the demon hunter, Leivinia softly cooed, garnering his attention.

Her eyelids had widened, her eyes within them sparkling with traces of tears. Leivinia's lips had curled and folded into a convincing pout, while her eyebrows were raised, curled almost pathetically.

It'd only take one word, really. One word and he would break.

"Papa… p-please train more d-demon hunters for me? It would make me very h-happy…"

There was very little to be said or done. The demon hunter merely sighed and gave in.

"… you win, dearest Leivinia. The battle but not the war. I'll begin renewing training regimens at your soonest convenience. My old coven would be very upset… the Daemoniac Arts are not meant to be handed out like compulsory gifts. But I defy the Tenets for you."

"You do, and of course I do. I'm a winner. Thank you, Papa~."

* * *

February 8th, 2004. PM. 5:23 PM.

Misaka Mikoto's gut was twisting and churning inside of her. Her innards felt as if they were going to collapse in on themselves.

Seated in the first and only row of passenger seats in Kumokawa Seria's vehicle, Mikoto tugged at the seatbelt that was ready to attempt to save her life in the event of a crash.

Of course, the strongest electromaster in all of Academy City could have easily saved herself – it was more or less the thought that counted. The fact that there was something secure fastening her in place was an instinctually pleasing sensation to experience.

Both vehicles, Kumokawa Seria's and Gladio-Oculus Operative David Horton's had only just passed through the border checkpoint separating school districts nine and seventeen, passing from the former and into the latter, the former vehicle shadowing the latter.

It had only been a few minutes, and yet Mikoto felt like the moment in which Kamijou Touma, then-bearer of that impossible thing he called "Imagine Breaker" utterly defeated the mass murdering monster known as Accelerator, the number one ranked esper in all of Academy City had happened only the day prior.

She recalled the horrified and confused facial expression stretched across that animal's face. The way his eyelids his widened, the way his pupils had dilated.

Mikoto could've touched herself to that. The sense of satisfaction she received just from thinking about it was orgasmic in and of itself.

Everything within school district seventeen looked the same as it had on that fateful night. The same old shipping containers were present, the same old boring, dull and grey pavement, lacking the usual spunk and fervor of the architecture found in Academy City's residential districts, even the sky looked the same, dull and cloudy. School district seventeen wasn't trying to impress anyone.

There was only a light breeze, one which couldn't even be experienced from within Kumokawa Seria's vehicle.

It would've been just enough for Accelerator to compress the natural force into a great, twisting, churning orb of plasma.

"Misaka, you're quiet all of a sudden. It's all good, nothing like that is going to happen again if you're thinking about what I think you're thinking about. _We_ won't let it happen again. Right?"

Kamijou Touma had turned around in the passenger seat to face the third-ranked level five. His hands remained on Kumokawa Seria's legs; if Mikoto hadn't been feeling the way she was, she likely would've blushed or have felt even slightly flustered by the sight. Seria didn't seem to have a problem with the physical attention, or she didn't notice it.

Maybe she'd tease him about his perverted ways later. In the present, Misaka Mikoto just couldn't find the motivation to do so.

"Yeah. That's right, _we_ , _us_. Together. You and me."

"You seem to be forgetting someone," Seria stated with a giggle. "I'm no esper, but I've plenty of experience on the shooting range. I'm no pushover in a brawl either. I can get physical with the best of them."

"She's telling the truth," Touma remarked as he turned around, but not before offering Mikoto a warm smile, one which the troubled level five returned.

Even if it was more sudden than she would've liked, even if she hadn't planned for anything of the sort to occur, Mikoto was genuinely pleased with herself and with the situation unfolding before her.

She, Misaka Mikoto, was actually going to reach up to him, Kamijou Touma, and work as his equal. He was giving her the chance to prove herself and to close the proverbial distance between them. He, Kamijou Touma, was fulfilling the promise he'd made so long ago, not to her, but to that strange fellow with the broken face, he who'd turned out to be part of a world Mikoto, at the time, had no idea even existed.

She was delighted.

"I remember this one time, there were these guys from another school who'd showed up for some reason, I think they were friends with someone in our school. This was back before our high school got completely fucked. Well, because Seria is Seria they try to get a piece, one of them tries to get touchy…"

Seria shrugged, making a right turn as she continued to shadow the Oculus Operative, the Backstabbing Blade and the fake gemstone.

"He attempted to grope my breast. I broke his nose. Touma-kun watched it happen. Of course, because he's such a sweet little thing, he was quick to make sure everyone involved was alright, even the gorilla I'd brutalized."

Kamijou Touma merely chuckled. Was she being nostalgic? Or did she have a clue? That Kamijou Touma was dead and buried. There was a new Kamijou Touma in town, a better and stronger Kamijou Touma who'd taken the place of the previous.

Misaka Mikoto was in no position to chastise others about extreme reactions. She merely looked on as the vehicle being shadowed by Kumokawa Seria came to a halt before a great, expansive warehouse.

Covered in graffiti, stained and rusted by Japan's oftentimes disagreeable weather patterns, the location was like something out of a horror movie.

What windows it still possessed were small and located close to the roofing of the warehouse, stained with dust, to the extent that the interior of the structure couldn't be seen from the outside.

Out stepped Gladio-Oculus Operative David Horton. He looked over either of his shoulders and ran his hands over the surface of his vehicle, from one end to the other, eventually being joined by a casual Tsuchimikado Motoharu and a tired-looking Karasuma Fran.

Horton waved in the direction of Seria's vehicle. Though he couldn't see it, the vehicle's owner nodded affirmatively.

"I can't say too much about my… extracurricular activities, Misaka-san, but I can say that I'm not entirely certain as to what's going to occur, or what might occur, but I have a few ideas. I've experience in what some might refer to as 'the underworld'… feel free to bail out at any moment if you feel yourself to be in an uncomfortable situation. I understand and I'm sure my kohai understands as well."

"I do, by the way," Touma added. "Seriously, don't be afraid to split if things get rough. Seria and me, we're used to these sorts of janky scenarios."

Mikoto shook her head, no, her arms folding across her chest as she proverbially stood her ground.

"So am I. The gesture means a lot, especially from you Kumokawa-san, given that we've only just met. Me and him, Touma, we have a history of facing down conflict together too… it's complicated. He seems to have a history with a lot of girls, doesn't he?"

"That he does," Seria confirmed. "It's not necessarily a bad thing. Sometimes, abnormal is good, even better. Adjustments sometimes need to be made, but the abnormal and the unexpected can be… pleasant."

To Mikoto's surprise, she didn't seem at all perturbed, though Mikoto wasn't necessarily perturbed herself – "Kami Disease" had become more of a reality set in her mind, something to accept rather than to dance around and avoid. "Kami Disease", as Tsuchimikado Motoharu referred to it was part of Kamijou Touma's existence.

Seria spoke once more before she stepped out of her vehicle, just after she'd kissed her kohai on the cheek.

"He really is something special."

That he was. Kamijou Touma was worth adjusting for. The agreement with that damn Shokuhou should've been proof enough that Misaka Mikoto was open to abiding by such a requirement, if that was what it would take to close the ever-growing distance between her and that boy.

"Hey, Misaka?"

"Hey. Somethin' you need?"

"There's some things I want to talk to you about when this is done. It's… relevant to what we've been talking about."

"Is it now?"

"Uh huh. I'm going to be talking to my senpai, Seria, about the same thing. I don't know about Shokuhou, she's… I don't remember her being the daring type. It's been a while to be fair, so that could've changed."

"It hasn't. Daring, huh…?"

Without another word, both Kamijou Touma and Misaka Mikoto left Kumokawa Seria's vehicle, closing either of the vehicle's doors behind them.

Situated in a small, vacant parking area adjacent to the warehouse, the vehicle was left alone as its three once-occupants turned their sights to the warehouse.

Its twin entranceway doors were enormous, rusted and battered. Sections of paint had and were perpetually peeling away, revealing a shade of dull, metallic grey beneath. Splattered with graffiti of all appearances, some forming text, and others forming nonsensical, meaningless images and pseudo-words, either door was forced into place and carefully bound together with a series of thick, metallic chains.

Why such primitive technology was being used in a place like Academy City was beyond the knowledge of Kumokawa Seria and even Kamijou Touma, who was nearly omniscient, for all intents and purposes.

Misaka Mikoto knew.

Her electromagnetic senses tingled, similarly to the unique senses of a certain building-climbing superhero as she 'reached' out and identified the many different sorts of metallic substances around her.

The warehouse was not quite what it seemed to be. Hardly at all.

A section of the outer walling fell away, pulled down by David Horton's hand before Horton pressed down on a small button located within.

Slapping the small section back into place, it once more had become completely opaque and indistinguishable from the rest of the outer walling.

Rather than opening outwards as a normal door would've, both doors, which were apparently part of one solid megastructure were pulled downwards into the ground, exposing the true innards of the warehouse.

Where rusted walls, filthy floors, and a partially caved-in ceiling should've been, all was fanciful and modern in its architecture.

Bright, reflective silver. The walling, the ceiling, the floors, all was silver as if the group had stepped into some sort of dystopian vision of a survivalist's underground bunker.

Much of the warehouse was completely open space with nothing save oxygenized air to fill it, though there were numerous, strange-looking and orb-shaped contraptions that dangled from the ceiling and were attached to the walls, each with a singular, blinking red dot in their respective centers.

There were, however, numerous queer constructs, shaped like pods, with translucent 'windshields'. Each floated above the ground, stabilized and directly in violation of gravity's laws by some invisible force. Each of the queer constructs produced a series of soft hums.

"So, Kami-yan and harem members, today we're traveling in style, courtesy of Gladio and the Oculus. Academy City's many proxy wars and state-funded coupes staged in foreign lands have given us this lovely boon."

Misaka Mikoto shook her head, seemingly in exasperation. Kumokawa Seria quietly produced a soft, curious "hm", while Kamijou Touma folded his arms across his chest, watching on as the exchange unfolded.

"Proxy wars? Coupes?"

"Money's got to come from SOMEWHERE, right, Biribiri-chan? Don't think that those warlords over on the other side of the world would impeach themselves. They've got dirty money, and Academy City's over there, supposedly as "the good guy". Think about it, Biribiri-chan."

Tsuchimikado Motoharu approached one of the queer constructs with a bored-looking Karasuma Fran in tow. She poked one; Motoharu followed up by pressing the palm of his hand against the same construct's 'windshield', utilizing the construct as leverage to hold his form up and offer him balance.

"Mr. Shadow War himself can give you a better explanation than I can."

Gladio-Oculus Operative David Horton had sparked up another cancer stick. He removed the burning death sentence from his mouth and held it between his fingers. Pacing awkwardly, Horton found himself awaiting the moment in which the facility's light fixtures would activate. With the entranceway door having slid back into place, there was very little illumination, natural or synthetic, to speak of.

"Prototypical weaponized vehicles, SHADE_CRAWLER. They saw service during Academy City's invasions of Avignon, Vietnam and numerous countries and city-states in South Africa, respectively."

"Very good, Beauty-Senpai! You're in the know, aren't you?"

"I could ask you the same rhetorical and sarcastic question, Tsuchimikado- _san ._ "

The tension was hardly palatable. It was thick like smog and it was an oppressive, consuming force. While it didn't seem to concern Kamijou Touma, who uttered an impressed chuckle, Misaka Mikoto had many questions.

Just who was this Kumokawa Seria, what was she involved with and what even was she to Touma? Just how much did she know?

Just how deep did Tsuchimikado Motoharu have himself dug into the underworld of Academy City?

Neither of those questions could be answered, in the moment, a fact which made Mikoto silently grumble to herself within the confines of her higher mind's passing thoughts.

"Self-driving," Horton expanded. "Custom operating system built directly into the vehicle's onboard computing systems, just input a location from a preselected group and you'll be taken there.

"Only controls you'd need to keep a hand or an eye on would be the grips for the SHADE_CRAWLER's internal, deployable miniguns. Enough ammunition would be on board to last you for hours before you'd have to reload – but we haven't gotten that far yet. Experimental. For now, fancy cars, not much more than that. Quickest way to get from point A to point B."

"What's the point, Davey? Could've just drove to district four, hopped out of our vehicles and busted the doors of this market… place… thing down."

Kamijou Touma had posed a question that both Misaka Mikoto and Kumokawa Seria had thought to pose, in different terms.

In response, David Horton took a drag of his personal lifespan-shortening device and exhaled a great mass of silver smoke.

"The point here is the exact opposite of what you suggested. We're doing reconnaissance, so pick a SHADE_CRAWLER and hop in. Tsuchimikado here, and I, we took the liberty of prepping them for a trip to school district four. We're going two to a CRAWLER, because… Oculus is underfunded, blame the campaign in Russia for straining our resources. Couldn't get more than three. How… funny."

Touma assumed that a war of the words was about to break out between Kumokawa Seria and Misaka Mikoto; it just seemed like the only outcome in a situation of the sort. That's what happened when girls were put in a situation in which one could get a moment with him.

And so, they all wanted that moment, even though there could only be one.

"Kumokawa-san, do you want to jump into one of these… thingamabobs with Touma? You were with him longer today, after all, I wouldn't want to impose."

"You're an absolute little dear! I don't mind taking a short amount of time to have a private discussion with Tsuchimikado- _san_. We're… we're quite close as business partners, you see, Misaka-san… and we have oh so much to discuss!"

And yet, nothing of the sort occurred. There was no infighting, no name calling and no antics straight out of the pages of some misogynistic harem manga.

Tsuchimikado Motoharu found himself in a pickle, but not Kamijou Touma.

He gulped. Indeed, he was in for a treat. As if to acknowledge this, Kumokawa Seria cracked her knuckles, and tilted her head to one side.

Karasuma Fran looked to her co-worker with a sympathetic facial expression. In response, the Backstabbing Blade patted the fake gemstone on the head, as if she was a household pet.

"Tsuchimikado-san can take a beating. Don't look at me with that sad little pout."

Kamijou Touma found himself wracked by synthetic guilt, apparently. Such was announced within his converted higher mind by a burst of expository data.

Regardless of whether the information he received was right or wrong, the fact was that he'd lowered both Kumokawa Seria and Misaka Mikoto to be little more than catty, uneducated, feral tribeswomen in his mind.

Obviously, he still had plenty of work to do.

The groups practically formed themselves. While Kumokawa Seria whispered something into Tsuchimikado Motoharu's ear, something that made him come along quietly and without complaint, a bored and tired-looking Karasuma Fran exchanged words with Horton, who she clambered into a SHADE_CRAWLER with.

That left Misaka Mikoto and Kamijou Touma, the latter of whom took their place within the free SHADE_CRAWLER. Simply by touching the construct's surface, the translucent 'windshield' popped open, offering an opening into the queer construct's 'cockpit'.

He looked to Misaka Mikoto, who seemed to be looking over the queer construct. Occasionally, a current of bright electricity would jump from her forehead, or from the tips of her fingers.

Touma decided to pose an inquiry, one which called the level five's sense of comfort into question.

"Something wrong, Misaka?"

"N-no. There's just… some strange things in here," Mikoto answered. She climbed into the queer construct with that boy, the boy who she desired to stand as an equal with.

She was coming closer and closer to achieving her goals. As she sat next to him inside of the strange, prototypical thing, Mikoto's own shoulder rubbed against Touma's.

"Any idea how to close this thing up? I don't… oh, here we go, a button. Let's press it! What could possibly go wrong?"

"W-wait, T-Touma…"

Mikoto had half-expected the both of them to be ejected from their seats inside of the vehicle, but nothing of that sort happened.

Instead, two small compartments on either side of the queer construct opened. Mechanical innards spun and whirred as, from either side, a compact weapon was produced.

With small holding chambers and several smaller, but longer Gatling-style rotating barrels, either weapon was unleashed like the claws of a housecat. With the push of the same button Touma had originally pressed, they retracted. The queer construct whirred and chugged once more, as both parties within its 'cockpit' watched on, curiously.

While his words couldn't be heard, due to he and Seria's construct having its 'windshield' sealed, Tsuchimikado Motoharu offered Kamijou Touma and Misaka Mikoto two thumbs up, while Kumokawa Seria viciously tugged on either of his ears, obviously angered by something he'd said.

Then, she punched him in the face.

Kamijou Touma couldn't believe that the snake was trying to be friendly after everything he'd done, everything he was involved with, and everything Touma had said to him. At least he could vicariously live through the pummelling Seria delivered onto the snake.

"I'm going to try this one; Touma, hold onto your hat!"

Misaka Mikoto pulled down a small lever, which, much to her appreciation, caused the windshield to be lowered along with it. Within the queer construct, more innards whirred; for a moment, the Railgun wondered if the construct would spontaneously explode.

The vehicle commandeered by the Gladio-Oculus Operative and the fake gemstone was the first to begin moving forward; apparently having not thought the situation all the way through, the Operative had to disembark from the construct and subsequently flip a small switch to bring down the false entranceway doors. He flashed an odd hand gesture in the direction of the construct commandeered by Tsuchimikado Motoharu and his tormenter, Kumokawa Seria. The bruised Backstabbing Blade nodded in affirmation.

Apparently, the Operative wouldn't be accompanying the group. Instead, the construct commandeered solely by Karasuma Fran went on its merry way without him, soon followed by that of Motoharu and Seria.

Kamijou Touma and Misaka Mikoto still struggled to figure out how their own queer construct functioned.

"Misaka, why don't you use your ability? Can't you just… make this thing work?"

"I can't! I… erm, I mean, I could, but it already sounds like it's going to explode!"

"Let's just push buttons."

"No, no… let's think this throu…"

But Touma didn't heed the level five's words of warning. Instead, he'd chosen to begin pressing buttons and flipping switches at random, one which seemingly disabled the construct completely; flipping it upwards enabled the construct once more, causing the Railgun to breathe a sigh of relief.

Eventually, he came upon the singular, yellow button which seemed to make the construct move forwards. Drifting further from the ground, causing the Railgun's stomach to turn upside down inside of her chest, the queer construct suddenly picked up speed. The world rushed by as Mikoto struggled to keep her half-digested lunch to herself.

An arm wrapped around her shoulders and pulled her close to the body to which it belonged. Icy but thick with considerable muscle, Mikoto found herself welcoming it.

"Oi, you're looking pale. Just sit back and relax, _we'll_ take care of everything. Yeah?"

"Y-yeah."

This certainly wasn't how Mikoto had expected her evening to go; but when it came to associating with Kamijou Touma, she'd come to not only expect but embrace the unexpected.

Whatever it took, she would be at his side. She would become his equal, even if that meant adjusting her own moral standards and becoming a part, of all things, a "group effort". A harem. There was no sense in dancing around what it truly was.

Even if Shokuhou was going to be involved, Mikoto would find a way to make it work. If she could come to an agreement and reason with the likes of Shokuhou, she could reason with anyone.

Silently, she vowed those words to herself as she nuzzled that boy, who wasn't a boy at all, not even human. Lovingly, he fiddled with locks of her chestnut brown hair and left soft kisses on the crown of her head.

Misaka Mikoto might as well have been in Heaven.


	19. The Mission II

Archbishop Laura Stuart's personal quarters were not always a place of tension, nor were they always a place in which meetings would play out.

They were exactly what the metaphorical box described them as: personal quarters, a place for the Archbishop of the English Church's 0th Parish to relax, kick her feet up and, most importantly, scheme in private.

Instead of privacy, Laura Stuart had a "guest of honor" sitting across from her at her personal quarters' grand dining table. Each of the other eight seats surrounding the circular dining table sat vacantly.

Upon the table's surface, a tablecloth had been elegantly laid, while a metallic, silver tray holding a grand, ornate teapot and numerous, equally ornate teacups surrounded the steaming pot.

Despite the perpetually-thickening tension that permeated the oxygenized air of the Archbishop's personal quarters, and even though a potentially lethal enemy sat across from her, Laura Stuart maintained the upper hand.

To drown out the sounds of the voices which exchanged sometimes heated words, a record containing a compilation of classical music had been set to play on a record player, nearby the personal quarters' luxurious, queen-sized bed, a piece of furniture fit for royalty, its tall bedposts carved from oaken wood, with a silky, snow white canopy over it. The canopy was battered about by the breeze that infiltrated the quarters, breaking and entering through an open window.

She smiled.

Laura Stuart simply smiled at the accusation previously hurled her way by her soft-spoken and calm-mannered "guest of honor". She was always having accusations of some description hurled at her, it seemed.

First, it had been Kanzaki Kaori, and then it had been Stiyl Magnus. Almost the entirety of the Amakusans had turned against the Church of England at large on Kaori's command.

And yet it was all little more than a series of simplistic inconveniences. With a wave of her hand, she could unmake them.

Was Laura Stuart a tyrant? Perhaps. Maybe she was a tyrant, maybe she was "the bad guy", at least in the narrative penned by her "guest of honor" and by those who'd come to oppose her.

Returning briefly from her own inner contemplations, Laura leaned forward at her end of the table, which might as well have been her side of a game board. Adorned in her trademark brown-colored garbs, Laura's right leg was elegantly crossed over her left, her slipper-clad foot bouncing up and down repeatedly.

There was one problem with the reality her foes sought to create: that narrative wasn't Laura's narrative. Her own agenda was quite different than the agendas of others. Drastically so.

"And what would you have me do, then, hm? Would you have me lay down Necessarius and surrender to your ragtag band of… miscreants? If put in my position, would you perform in a superior manner, or would you crash and burn? I do wonder~! It almost makes me wonder enough to consider placing Necessarius into your hands, for the sake of seeing how you'd keep our Parish together~!"

Across from Laura Stuart sat a strange-looking individual indeed; they were surely strange by the standards of most Londoners, and most of those living in the countries of the western world, at least.

Like Laura Stuart's, this individual's hair was golden, though unlike Laura Stuart, hers was considerably shorter, falling only to her shoulders. Neat and straightened her bangs fell to either side of her face, while her hair's fringe was parted in its center and cast to either side of her forehead. Though she was almost entirely barefoot, with little more than simplistic, if stylish sandals composed of what looked like so many glowing, transparent crystalline formations, there was very little that could be considered "savage" about her. Clad in little more than a white, silvery dress which looked like it could've been lifted by the breeze at any moment, her figure was hourglass-shaped, with many delicate curves.

Her hazel irises, with their dark pupils, looked into Laura's blue irises, and her darker, sinister and conniving irises, windows which offered a view of a dark and corrupted soul.

"How long has it been, sister? How long will the game continue? Be true, this is all little more than a game to you. Your pawns are mankind and your pieces of greater strength you move about the checkerboard, the Saint Kaori Kanzaki, Innocentius' summoner, Stiyl Magnus, your many spies. The Imagine Breaker boy was little more than another one of your playthings, with the List of Prohibited Books as one of many strings. Was… it would appear that didn't quite play out in your favor. In fairness, you had to start losing at some point."

Laura Stuart merely shrugged and took a sip of her tea. Her hands were small and delicate, her fingernails smaller, like those of a true "proper lady". Painted golden, they shined the synthetic light beamed down from an ornate chandelier dangling above, from the personal quarters' ceiling.

"How would you like me to answer? I'll offer you the truth, Ava, my dear "sister". You would be correct if you were to assume that their lives are meaningless, so many cogs in the machine! Oh, I do love my similes~! But, yours… that's another matter entirely!"

Ava Stuart took a sip of her own tea. Sweet, yet with a bitter aftertaste, the warm liquid dripped down the young-seeming woman's throat once it passed her lips.

"You asked me why the Sons of Taured were formed."

"I did~! Good job, you remembered! Might I receive an answer, now? I do believe that I've been quite patient! I also have reason to believe that you may have purposefully derailed our previous conversation like an eraser over some incorrect answers on a sheet of homework! Chiu, chiu, chiu~!"

"You're sickening. The Sons were formed to oppose the likes of you and oppose we will. Riddle me something, sister. Why is the "Magic Side", as it's been called, kept a secret from the world? Surely you have a strawman or two to prop up. If I'm lucky I might even receive a dose of personal incredulity!"

Rising from her seat at the table, Laura giggled. She twirled on her toes, which she stood up on, her long, golden and radiant hair flowing as she twirled, laughing almost childishly.

Ava Stuart watched on in disbelief. What was her deluded sister even doing? How could a person such as this be responsible for upholding one of the most powerful and influential factions in the magical world?

Then, she reminded herself: the individual she looked upon wasn't Laura Stuart. It was nothing more than an illusion, a mask slapped haphazardly into place to hide true, nefarious and deep-seeded evil.

Laura always had been the "problem child". If only the exorcisms had helped. Maybe, in some perfect world, they had helped.

"Magic is kept a secret from the world at large because it would be misused. We'd have our work cut out for us if every man, woman, and child with a penchant for vengeance could freely wield such power~!"

"And yet it's little different than the power wielded by the millions of espers in Academy City, sister. Does this not seem even a tad hypocritical to you?"

As an unapproving Ava Stuart watched on, Laura Stuart gracefully danced to the other side of the room, and then back towards the table, her form elegant and exotic, bending and contorting herself in ways that shouldn't have been possible, based on the physiology of her human body.

For only a fleeting moment, Ava Stuart witnessed a flash of emerald green in the pupils of Laura Stuart's eyes.

Laura produced a series of soft, innocent-sounding giggles.

"You ask too many questions, Ava-chan~! Do you like my Japanese? I think I've mastered the language~! Ah, but, your answer, dear "sister'. The espers are kept within their Japanese ethnostate! Would you suggest that we build a "Great Wall" around the United Kingdom so that the world's magicians could be contained within? That's not very progressive, Ava, dear~!"

"What of the Conquistadors of the Roman Orthodox Church? You lift no fingers to stop them. You lift no fingers to halt the genocidal rampage of their Crusaders across the globe, even as the Russian Orthodoxy struggles alone to halt this hate-fueled aggression. What say you to this, sister?"

"What the Roman Orthodoxy gets up to is no concern of mine, Ava-chan~. If a new Crusade is bound to begin, then it shall begin. Such spear-hurling, bone-chewing tribal, voodoo-worshiping lesser creatures could only be saved by our dear Lord, after all, no~?"

Ignorance was one thing. Acceptance, embrace and overt racism were other matters entirely.

Ava Stuart would stand for it no longer.

"Obviously, this meeting was pointless. You'll never be reached, sister. I'm sorry. I know... I know you're in there. Perhaps, you can even hear me. There's a chance the blame lays on my shoulders. Mother and father… never were the greatest guides to life and the world. I'm surprised either of us turned out to be more than small-time shanty town whores."

"Oh~? Go on."

"I was the big sister, and I failed you, the little sister, evidently enough. I'm sorry Laura, I'm so very sorry. I'll be taking my leave now. Thank you for your hospitality. Do give your servants my regards, for the kindness they've extended to me, a stranger, was quite commendable."

"Certainly. Bye, bye~! See you around~!"

With a sigh, Ava Stuart rose from her seat at the table and left Laura Stuart's personal quarters, gently closing the door behind her.

On the other side, no guardsman or guardsmen awaited Ava. No personal watchdogs or anything of the sort. Both Ava and Laura Stuart could more than handle themselves.

Ava traced her way back to the northernmost entranceway of St. George's Cathedral, descending twisting sets of stairs aplenty and passing through many ornate halls and passageways before she arrived within the Grand Hall, the only section of St. George's Cathedral which the common Londoner was able to view, or even knew to exist as a functioning part of the Cathedral's complex system of inner workings.

With no mass in session, the Grand Hall was almost eerily quiet; instincts decreed that Ava Stuart should remain on high alert. The breeze howled through the opened, stained glass windows that lined the Great Hall's cobbled, lavishly decorated walls.

Both grand entranceway doors were parted, creaking and groaning as their age showed. Tall, imposing and carved from the light-colored wood of an unknown origin, bound with dark, metallic reinforcements along their edges, either of the doors were surprisingly lightweight.

Descending the few ornate steps that separated Ava Stuart from the cobbled walkway beyond the low walls of stone that surrounded the Cathedral, Ava nodded in the direction of a strangely-garbed individual, who nodded back. He, or she, or perhaps it, took to Ava's side, walking in sync with the falls of her nearly bare feet.

Adorned in a long coat, done up with each and every one of its buttons snapped into their respective creases on the coat, with simplistic dark slacks, work boots, gardening gloves and an out of place Magical Girl Kanamin baseball cap, his, or hers, or possibly its face was obscured by some sort of makeshift mask which resembled an empty sack of flour. A pair of sunglasses adorned the figure's obscured face, cloaking the section of the makeshift mask where eyes should've been on a human face.

In a muffled, vaguely distant and echoed voice he, or she or it spoke to Ava Stuart.

"Let me take a very wild guess. Necessarius' Archbishop has bent the knee, having accepted the terms of our demands for her to unconditionally surrender, accepting her fate to be charged as a war criminal and as a traitor to the English people? I can only assume she displayed overwhelming, physically identifiable proof of her crippling sense of remorse. I bet she even cried."

"Absolutely," Ava remarked with a short, and rather weak chuckle. "She's agreed to be transferred to New Taured for trial, even. Indeed, the British Royal Family has even agreed to have us as guests of honor… I speak sarcastically, of course, our work is still cut out for us, my friend."

"Lovely."

"Isn't it just?"

"I'll make sure to get word to dear Jack… does she not realize that someone is going to end up getting hurt? It's an unavoidable consequence of conflict."

"Our cold war can only progress for so long before it becomes hot. I'd much rather it not come to that, but I can and will strike will the full force of the Sons if I must."

As the two turned a corner and then left the vicinity of the Cathedral entirely, a figure stepped out to greet them. Bathed in the glow of the moonlight, her arms were crossed beneath her bosom. She nodded, and, in response, Ava and the being with the echoing voice nodded back.

"How goes it, Saint Kaori Kanzaki? Has progress been made? The Archbishop's lack of cooperation, though unsurprising, reaffirms our purpose."

The Saint of the Far East stood within a circle, formed of many shards of paper, strange, archaic symbols scribbled upon each of their soft, and otherwise unmarred surfaces. Kaori strayed not from this circle, and soon, both Ava Stuart and the being with the echoing voice joined her within its confines.

"An all-out assault I can't recommend, not on our own… but I can recommend something else."

* * *

Misaka Mikoto had nearly fallen asleep.

Even though she was nervous, uncertain and flustered all at the same time, even if she found herself in an unfamiliar setting, within a potentially unreliable, queer-looking construct, Mikoto felt oddly relaxed.

With Kamijou Touma's arms wrapped around her shoulders, her form held close to his in a cold, yet paradoxically comforting embrace, Mikoto's eyelids had nearly closed shut completely. They fluttered once, twice, and then they would reopen once more.

The way he told her that he loved her, in that soft tone of voice, it caused the level five electromaster's heart to skip a beat.

It did cause one question with possibly 'dangerous' consequences to bubble within her higher mind's thoughts, however. Mikoto didn't want to unravel something that seemed to be the last tie on a proverbial bridge that was about to collapse, a bridge that connected two sides of a metaphorical landmass, one leading Misaka Mikoto right into the waiting arms of a changed Kamijou Touma.

"You know, what we were talking about before, the other day. When you came to the Dormitory to visit – and try not to do that again without letting me know first, please, Kuroko is a pain to keep at bay – about, erm… uh, you know. The sort of, erm… okay, this is awkward now for some reason. I was doing really good before, let me try and reword this…"

Touma watched on, not judging and not speaking, though he was more than welcome to engage in the latter action. There was a mirthful grin on his face.

"What're you grinning at? You think me stumbling over myself is funny? I… I guess it is kind of funny, isn't it? Eheheh."

"You're just too cute, Misaka, that's it. Watching you stumble like that is adorable."

Mikoto blushed. Blood rushed into either of her cheeks, and she looked downwards, towards her feet, which were scrunched together; the 'cockpit' of the queer construct wasn't particularly spacious by any stretch of the imagination.

"Your shoes are cute. Are they new?"

"…"

"Wha? Why're you looking at me like that?"

"You're one of THOSE guys? For… crying out loud. It's like your revealing some new secret about yourself every time we get together. Really? Those? Of all the parts of me to be turned on by…"

"One of "THOSE guys"? What's that supposed to mean?"

"Don't play stupid, you. You're a fetishist. A deviant! A pervert, a degenerate, a sicko! I'm… I'm just kidding by the way. Just playing! I-it's none of my business what you get off to."

She'd been afraid to hurt that boy's feelings at first, but there were obviously no feelings damaged; Kamijou Touma was laughing aloud, his head tossed back.

"I-it… it was just a question, Misaka! Stop throwing accusations at me!"

"Stop denying it! I was pushing your buttons! There's nothing wrong with having an innocent fetish like that."

There was something about that boy, that Kamijou Touma. He brought out the best in her. Mikoto could truly be herself around him, she could let loose, laugh and have a good time.

Being around Kamijou Touma was therapeutic. Even in a sudden situation in which unknowns could be around every corner, proverbially and literally, Misaka Mikoto found something calming about being near that boy.

"Yeah, okay," Touma admitted with a shrug, his laughter dying down. He placed a kiss on the top of Mikoto's head, causing her blush to deepen further in its tone of redness. "But, fetish or not, my point stands. They're really cute."

"Well, t-thank you. I like them too. They were on sale, I just happened to see them, fell in love. Click, like that, with the snap of someone's fingers, it was love at first sight. But… in a weird way this leads back to the point I was going to make originally…"

"Which was regarding what we spoke about the other day."

"Right."

Mikoto leaned forward, stretching her back and smacking her lips before she let herself fall backward, towards the seat from where she's rose.

"You've never really told me what _you_ think about… erm… oh, fuck this! Why avoid the subject, this is just stupid! Get it together Mikoto!"

Touma tightened his embrace.

"It's all good, Misaka. I'm not judging, just breathe."

"Yeah. T-thanks… okay, right, I want to know what you think about having so many girls who like you. Do you think some of the other… girls… erm, would… reject the idea of being part of a… a "group effort"? A… h-harem? I'm just going to say it until I stop acting so weird. Harem, harem, harem, harem, harem, HAREM! Take that… me? Take it! I can say it! HAAAAAAAARRRRRRREEEEEEEEEMMMMMMMMMM! Hah! I win, you lose... or does that mean that I lose?"

Looking beyond the translucent 'windshield' of the queer construct he'd found himself in, alongside Misaka Mikoto, the third strongest level five in Academy City, the mighty "Railgun", Touma could only emulate what the sort of vocalization he thought should be produced; a soft, curious-sounding "hm".

Her odd antics suggested that she was feeling more uppity than usual, something that pleased Touma indeed. He couldn't and wouldn't try to bite back the grin that his lips were curling into.

"It's less just accepting," Touma began, causing Mikoto to begin peering out at Academy City through the view offered by the 'windshield' as well.

"Less of that, and more… embracing. I guess I just realized how lucky I am. All of you are great, wonderful girls, people, you're perfect, all of you and… over time, I found myself falling for all of you. There's these little things, unique, different. Perfect."

Mikoto took Touma's hand into her own and then placed her other hand atop it, forming a human clamshell package and clasping Touma's left hand within it. She sniffled.

She couldn't believe that she was crying. Again. What a joke, the third-ranked level five in all of Academy City, tearing up three times in the span of a few hours.

"T-Touma?"

"There's not really a specific order of hierarchy in my mind, I love… no, I fucking adore you all equally. Index, Othi-chan… you, Seria, Itsuwa-san, your little Sister with that cute little personality of hers, Himegami, Kazakiri-san... even Fukiyose, even if she... fucking pisses me off sometimes, gets right under my skin... well, I don't actually _have_ skin anymore, but... you get it. All of you. You've all been offering me your love for so long and I've just been turning it away. Not anymore. I want to love you all equally, I want to return the love that you guys… err, girls, have been sending my way! It's so beautiful."

She sniffled again. Mikoto once more found herself fighting back a seemingly unconquerable onslaught of emotions. In the corners of her eyes, with their light, brown-colored irises, the beginnings of tears formed. Not tears of sadness, nor of any negative emotion.

They were tears of happiness and of gratefulness. Equals… equals. Was she going to be able to close the distance? Was Misaka Mikoto really going to manage the feat of bringing to an end the false, changeable reality that she was "so very far away" from Kamijou Touma?

But there was another reality, one which wasn't so easily changeable. Did he consider such a thing? Mikoto certainly did.

"What if there are other girls who object to the idea? That little nun you keep around always seemed to me like a bit of a prude. Speaking of her, I don't really know how I feel about that One-Eyed terrorist girl either. I… I can try and make it work, though. No, I won't just try, I _will_ make it work."

"I understand how you're feeling here, Misaka, and I've thought of that," Touma admitted. "I've thought of that a lot. It's… I know that it won't be that easy. I wouldn't want to push my own views and feelings on people anyways, y'know? Not like I've always done, I'm finished with that pushiness, it's just not right."

Mikoto nodded in affirmation.

"Absolutely."

"Even if it's just a handful of you that I'm romantic with, those of you who're down for that, I'm more than down to just be good friends with the girls who aren't feeling that. There'd be a lot of balancing to do, a lot of… a lot of talking, but I'm more than willing to talk it out as much as needed, Misaka. This is the hand I've been dealt and, Hell, I'm going to play it with pride."

Mikoto was about to offer a response to that handsome, understanding, usually-reasonable, courageous boy, to whom she was in worlds of debt, no matter what he said.

But her words were cut off as the queer construct they were within lifted itself even further from the section of highway which it had been following. While other vehicles passing alongside and beneath the construct had been repeatedly honking, the rates of their honking increased tenfold once the construct achieved what, for all intents and purposes, was liftoff.

It hovered as it left the section of elevated highway completely, its innards humming as its speed further increased.

Mikoto looked through the section of the translucent 'windshield' opposite from Kamijou Touma's, her eyes wide, not with nervousness but with excitement instead. Beneath, Academy City seemed oddly small, and it was slowly growing smaller with each second that passed as the queer construct she and Kamijou Touma were seated within gained momentum, and further height.

"We're… flying? These things can fly?" Mikoto inquired.

In response, Touma offered his own point of view.

"Apparently. Huh, that's… surprising? Didn't really know what to expect in the first place I guess."

Mikoto continued to gaze downwards, while Touma looked ahead instead, keeping an eye on any possible air traffic.

There was an extended period of comfortable silence between the two. There was very little that really needed to be said.

Misaka Mikoto had been feeling better than she had in ages.

With Kamijou Touma at her side, with the possibility of being able to reach him and exist as his equal alive and nurtured within her higher mind's passing thoughts, she, the Railgun, the girl who always had to wear a false smile well and truly smiled, her facial muscles functioning of their own accord, not forced into action.

Kamijou Touma himself experienced darker thoughts.

Just what sort of madness was waiting for him, for Mikoto, for Seria, for Fran and for that G-man burnout, Davey? In regards to Tsuchimikado Motoharu, the stinking no-good snake, the second coming of Aureolus Izzard could've stuck the snake directly in the neck with one of his golden needles, for all Touma could've cared.

Why Aureolus Izzard of all the people came to Touma's converted mind, that answer was apparently not about to be answered by his data-gathering protocols. Whether they didn't have the answer or whether they had something to hide from their master and commander was a matter up in the air.

Through the airspace of school district one, the queer construct passed, suddenly some few feet above even the tallest of high-rise structures that dotted Academy City's first school district. Soon, it passed the border checkpoint separating school districts one and four and didn't seem to garner any sort of reaction from those posted below, who continued to pace about aimlessly.

Then, the construct began to dip, decreasing its altitude and moving towards the paved roadway below it. Some of those below the queer construct began to flee, while others were clearly producing their cell phones, likely snapping images or recording videos to upload onto the Internet for "cool points", or whatever the kids were seeking to achieve in the present day.

Altogether Touma found himself disconnected from his fellow youths.

With a thud, the construct came to establish physical contact with the roadway, though it didn't come to a rest. The SHADE_CRAWLER continued to move, following each turn, no matter how sharp that was present on the roadway's surfaces.

Though neither party within the SHADE_CRAWLER's 'cockpit' could hear the voices of those outside, Misaka Mikoto and Kamijou Touma could see those who were outside, and both could see their moving lips.

Apparently, those beyond could see them as well. Those beyond the translucent 'windshield' pointed in the duo's direction, while others attempted and failed to follow the swiftly-moving construct.

Passing what seemed to be a great food court of some type, given the enormous, spinning sign depicting a stereotypically cartoonish bowl of ramen, looking like something straight out of a manga, the SHADE_CRAWLER soon came to a halt some few blocks beyond that innocuous structure.

Parked next to a section of brown, cobbled walkway adjacent to a block of small and otherwise insignificant-looking structures were the two other SHADE_CRAWLERS, along with a far more average, if an equally darkened vehicle, a simple four-door with windows tinted darker than the abyss itself.

The old burnout must've managed to make it. Touma found himself smirking at the thought.

Several, but not quite all the nearby structures were identifiable, food-related in some way or another, whether by the signs above, below or near their vicinities which advertised their surfaces or by their respective names.

Mikoto was the first to raise the same lever she'd used to lower the 'windshield', which was successfully lifted. Strangely, there had been no lack of fresh air within the 'cockpit' of the SHADE_CRAWLER.

Mikoto could only conclude that a system had been situated within to provide a steady supply of oxygenized air from the world beyond to the 'cockpit' and to those within who required air to breathe, whom Kamijou Touma was not among.

While Misaka Mikoto merely zapped the construct with a light, virtually harmless jolt of electricity, enough to close the construct's translucent 'windshield' from afar, Kamijou Touma had taken to scanning his environment, craning his neck from one side to the other. He even craned his neck a full three-hundred and sixty degrees, before his vision came to rest upon the "ugly duckling" amongst the structures.

"Oi. Misaka, I think we've got our place. Looks… it looks like a... a haunted house. Fitting?"

"Yeah? Wher… oh, yeah. Definitely. How… inconspicuous, huh?"

"Very inconspicuous. Nobody's investigated this obviously janky-ass place out. What… whatever. Who cares."

" _If only this was some innocuous family trip to the funfair."_

Indeed, by the standards of most living in Academy City, the structure must've been quite the sight to see, and quite the culture shock, if "culture" was the right word to describe such an oddly-proportion construction project gone awry.

Although there was nothing inherently 'wrong' with the structure itself, as it was apparently fit to "go" in all its forms, it was the exterior that was flawed, or, perhaps more appropriately, tarnished.

Masses of what resembled black-colored moss dangled from every conceivable surface, while strange, archaic depictions of items which Touma both did and didn't know the origin of, due entirely in part to his extensive history of meddling with the affairs of the Magic Side. Magic Circles were present, as well as numerous runes that had been carved into the structure's surfaces.

"So, who's going in first?"

Misaka Mikoto's words had torn Kamijou Touma from his internal musings.

In order to 'repay' the Railgun for her 'crimes', Touma proceeded to take her right hand into his own left, which surprised, but didn't displease her.

"I'd rather that no one goes 'first', Misaka. We'll go in together. It's a small thing, but I think it's the little things that can sometimes matter the most, don't you agree?"

"You are SO corny. I… it's cute that you'd say that, please don't go and think I'm ungrateful. I'm just teasing."

"I wouldn't," Touma spoke, a tone of assurance in his vocalizations. "I'm used to being messed with, Seria pranks me or otherwise fucks with me a lot, it's all in good fun. I can take a joke, Misaka."

With that, it was Mikoto who made the first steps towards the 'defaced' structure, crammed between two establishments which apparently offered foodstuffs as their primary source of goods, at least according to their respective, sign-based modes of advertising.

The Railgun and the existence that'd once been a 'normal high school boy' were just about to make their last respective steps towards the oaken door which separated them from the interior of what they assumed to be their destination.

"H-hi! Wait! Waaaait! Kamijou-san, Misaka-san!"

A voice spoke, one which caused both esper and synthetic nanotechnological structure to crane their respective necks.

There was an individual neither Kamijou Touma nor Misaka Mikoto had seen in a very long time.

She was dressed far more casually than normal; rather than her informal Kirigaoka Girls' Academy attire, Kazakiri Hyouka was adorned in a light, olive green blouse, not only accompanied by but accented by light denim shorts, which had been cuffed. A simplistic pair of canvas shoes adorned her feet.

Either of Hyouka's hands had found themselves clasped and held near her waist. Her long, brown hair hung down to her lower back, while a small section of her hair was tied to the left, allowed to hang down, like the tail of a frolicking woodland creature. Her eyes were wide, like those of a deer caught in headlights.

They only grew wider when she found herself being embraced by Kamijou Touma.

"Kazakiri?! It's… holy Hell, it's been a long time. Where've you been? What've you been up to? How did you… fuck it, I'll give you a minute to collect yourself. I missed you, man! I really missed you!"

Hyouka was more taken aback by the fact that he was touching her with his right hand. Something, something she didn't enjoy spending too much time dwelling on was supposed to happen, if and when "Imagine Breaker" came into contact with her, and yet, nothing of the sort had occurred. Kamijou Touma spoke differently as well. He looked different to boot; what had happened to all that spiky hair? His hair had been flattened, giving the boy more of an aggressive, and yet paradoxically more casual look.

Even more strangely, the usually volatile Misaka Mikoto didn't seem to be perturbed by the fact that Kamijou Touma was showing a shred of emotion towards another girl while in her presence. She merely placed either of her hands into her skirt's pockets and even offered a smile.

Just what had happened? How much had Hyouka missed?

"I-it's good to see you as well, Kamijou-san! I've missed you too! How… how has everything been? I've been well enough."

Both parties broke their shared embrace, but Hyouka quickly established another. She remembered that human bug zapper well enough to take her into an embrace as well.

"Misaka-san! It's good to see you!"

"H-hey…!"

Obviously, she was one of many girls that Kamijou Touma had managed to win the affections of, and yet, Misaka Mikoto could only vaguely remember her. Something about an underground shopping center, Kuroko being Kuroko, the nun, Anti Skill. The recollections ended there.

Mikoto recalled her face; it all seemed so distant, like something that'd happened a decade go, as opposed to less than two years prior to the present moment she found herself in.

Regardless, Mikoto would conduct herself professionally.

"What's with the modes of transportation? I've never seen anything quite like this before," Hyouka remarked. Approaching the queer construct, she placed her hand upon its surface, causing its 'windshield' to pop open. Hyouka leapt back but didn't otherwise experience great panic of any sort.

"Are you guys secret agents all of a sudden? Going to infiltrate the base of the… commie pinkos?! S-sorry, I've been watching a lot of Cold War dramas lately. I wonder what it must've been like to live in that period of time when every second was one bad move away from… from something horrible. It's interesting to watch, considering that it's all done and over, but... hm."

While Misaka Mikoto began to exchange her own knowledge of that time period with Kazakiri Hyouka, Kamijou Touma had found himself in another moment in which he could make one of two decisions; Mikoto seemed to acknowledge this as well. She looked to him, her neck head tilted slightly to one side. She raised an eyebrow before she stabilized her stance and shrugged her shoulders as if to say, "your call."

What would he do? Would Touma lie to Kazakiri Hyouka's face, or would he tell her the truth about their 'mission'?

Touma silently reasoned that Hyouka had very little reason to turn against him, and if she was going to, she would've done so before, when she could've easily sided with the 'winning team' during the events that unfolded throughout the war in Eastern Europe; and yet she hadn't. She'd been involved before, and therefore, she had all the more reason to know the truth.

"Actually, Kazakiri," Touma began, closing the distance between himself and the 'Key to the Imaginary Number District' once more, "can you keep a secret? Seriously, it's something that has to stay between us."

"Of course I can," Hyouka replied with confidence. She leaned inwards, exposing a small section of her bosom's cleavage. Whether it was intentional or a Freudian slip, Kamijou Touma certainly didn't find himself minding. She had impressive assets, after all.

Mikoto, on the other hand, looked away, her face reddening.

Struggling to keep his eyes' vision to himself, even after Hyouka stood straight, he explained the situation. He explained the nature of he and Mikoto's visitation in school district four and he explained the possible purpose of the oddly-decorated structure, which Hyouka would occasionally look upon quite suspiciously. Occasionally, Hyouka would stop Touma's explanations to ask a question or have him explain a particular term or event in greater detail, but she otherwise listened without interrupting.

Most of all, Kamijou Touma introduced yet another member of the "Science Side" to the concept of magic. Kazakiri Hyouka was shocked.

She had encountered some strange things, not counting the strangeness of her own existence, but Hyouka had never considered the fact that there was an entire secret society of 'magic users' who lived in passive-aggressive opposition to the scientific world.

That certainly explained the nature of she and the Accelerator's conflict with the being known as the Archangel Gabriel, which had existed for a period of time within the form of "Sasha Kreutzev".

In his Windowless Building, Academy City's General Superintendent clicked his tongue, not frustrated but certainly irritated enough to consider taking provocative action against the Imagine Breaker's former Bearer.

Aleister's proverbial toes were being stepped on. Kazakiri Hyouka, the 'Key to the Imaginary Number District' was of great importance to the Plan. She wasn't being compromised, sure, but she was being enlightened. Knowledge was power, and an enlightened mind was a dangerous mind.

"So…" Hyouka mumbled, after babbling incoherently for a moment, in an attempt to force her tongue to function correctly. She looked over either of her shoulders. As passersby walked, Hyouka leaned in, and whispered a question to Kamijou Touma, and by association to Misaka Mikoto, who was close enough to hear Hyouka's words.

"They're hiding all of this because of some sort of balancing issues? Why can't magic and science just get along, then? Wouldn't lasting peace be more convenient for both sides?"

Touma shrugged, raising either of his arms to further accent and even, to a lesser extent, exaggerate his choice of body language.

"I don't know what to tell you, Kazakiri. I don't have the answers, you'd have to ask the bigwigs in charge, whoever they might be. I've never even seen them. I'm guessing they're fearful of assassination attempts or something. There's lots of backstabbing that goes on, but I'm sure you know that by now."

"You could say that…"

Hyouka seemed exasperated. She took a seat on a nearby sanitary automaton, which had been cleaning the cobbled walkway, causing the machine to stop in its tracks. Pulling her legs up and folding them beneath her, Hyouka used the automaton as something of a makeshift carnival ride.

Instantaneously, her panties became visible. Out of politeness, Kamijou Touma looked on only for a moment, before he turned his gaze elsewhere. Bright pink in coloration, they'd appeared to be lacey thin and quite fashionable. Odd, given that only she was going to see them, as far as Kamijou Touma knew.

"This isn't what I was expecting when I decided to trail you, Kamijou-san. I suppose it all comes down to every day being one of learning, no? Even a discovery as large and potentially damaging at this one, even a discovery that has to be kept a secret is still a discovery."

"I guess it does," Mikoto acknowledged. Touma remained oddly silent.

"I learn very interesting things every day. For example, I visited a manga shop the other day, and happened upon a small isle dedicated to a certain genre of manga known as 'hentai', and…"

"Woah, Kazakiri," Touma spoke up. "Really, really don't want to hear about how you discovered masturbation. Not here."

"Master… what?"

Hyouka seemed confused. She tilted her head to one side and blinked more than once. Both Touma and Mikoto looked to one another, equally exasperated and confused. How DIDN'T Hyouka know about _that?_

Mikoto literally handwaved the issue, giggling awkwardly as she attempted to seem casual about the subject, or, more accurately, Hyouka's lack of knowledge regarding the subject.

"Don't worry about it."

There was a short period of silence shared by the trio before Hyouka looked down at her right wrist, which was occupied by a small, fancy-looking watch. Silver in coloration, the device was encrusted with numerous, exotic-looking jewels.

"O… o-oh! I was… d-distracted. I'd like to offer you my help on your errand, but I've got to go! I was supposed to meet my b… b-boyfriend fifteen minutes ago, AH! He's going to be so mad! B-bye, Kamijou-san, Misaka-san! I hope to see you again soon! Take care and stay safe!"

From sight, she vanished. Like something straight out of a fairytale, Kazakiri Hyouka had been balancing her body's weight while she held onto the sanitary automaton, and the next, she was gone. In the blink of an eye, Hyouka had "poofed" out of existence.

Mikoto looked to Kamijou Touma, whose lips had curled into a grin. Gently, he took Mikoto's hand back into his own.

"I hope he treats her right, whoever he is. I didn't know Kazakiri had a boyfriend… hah. I'm glad. She deserves a normal, stable life."

"Disappointed?"

"Kind of."

Both Misaka Mikoto and Kamijou Touma laughed off and recovered from the abruptness of their meeting with Kazakiri Hyouka; that was just the sort of meeting that would happen to them.

Apparently, she'd been following them for some time while not visible to the naked eye; not even Kamijou Touma had seen her.

"There is one thing, Misaka."

"Hm?"

"I do have to wonder what she'd think, about me. About this."

With the matter settled, they took their first steps through the worn and weathered entranceway door that lead directly into what was more than likely their destination.

Their respective senses of smell were the first senses to be assaulted. It was the scent of potpourri, an overwhelming stench of strong-scented potpourri. Additionally, another scent made itself known to the level five electromaster and the formerly human, former Bearer of the Imagine Breaker: the scent of undeniable age. It was musty, like the scent of mold.

"Kami-yan! Biribiri-chan! What a coincidence bumping into you here! What's the occasion?"

Tsuchimikado Motoharu was inside, along with Kumokawa Seria, Karasuma Fran and a concerned-looking Gladio-Oculus Operative named David Horton.

The establishment wasn't particularly small in size, at least structurally, and yet, it was so very cramped. There were many lengthy, worn and weathered wooden tables set in place, creating something of a makeshift maze, like a corn maze without any corn to speak of.

Upon each and every table, among what must've been hundreds dotting the establishment, there were items of all types. Large cauldrons, strange-looking idols, and charms were among what must've been millions, if not billions. There were almost _too_ many items.

Kumokawa Seria returned to the available side of Kamijou Touma, greeting him with a smile and a soft peck on his lips. Her hands, oddly enough, were bloodied.

Upon further inspection, Kamijou Touma noticed that Tsuchimikado Motoharu's nose was bloodied, bent violently to one side. It was probably broken, and for that Kamijou Touma had to offer his senpai two thumbs up.

"He was asking for it. Believe me, my little kohai."

"Right. I don't doubt that, not for a second. Kind of disappointed that he's alive at all."

"I can _hear_ you, Kami-yan!"

"Like I give a shit, drop dead and save me the trouble."

* * *

"You really should stop and think about this, Saten-san… something bad could happen to you. We don't even really know what "magic" is!"

"Nope! I'm enjoying myself too much! I wonder if I can use this "Idol Theory" stuff to make… what if I could make food?! Infinite amounts of canned mackerel?!"

"S-Saten-san! Please slow down! You might hurt yourself!"

"First things first~! Money, money, money!"

The two girls, both from Sakugawa Middle School had entered one of Academy City's many banks, one which was close in proximity to Saten Ruiko's residence, where Uiharu Kazari was intended to stay; she, of course, had few qualms about this. A day spent with Saten Ruiko was a day well-spent.

They couldn't have known it, but there was something odd about a small group of boys who'd eyed them for a few moments.

One of these boys, charismatic and garbed in casual, urban attire nodded upwards, smiling an almost alluring smile in their respective directions. Neither Ruiko nor Kazari could identify anything 'off' about either party.

But there was a boy in that bank who could tell that something was off.

What a fateful encounter it was between the beheld and the beholder.

The beholder in this scenario was adorned in the male uniform of Sakugawa High School, the educational facility situated directly across from Sakugawa Middle School. This getup consisted of informal, dark-colored dress pants and a button-up, collared, white-colored top. Despite (or perhaps because of) the fact that the shirt was long-sleeved, its sleeves had been rolled up, past the boy's elbows. Long, dirty blonde, nearly dark brown hair adorned his head and fell to his shoulders, shaggy but well looked after. Locks of his hair's fringe fell towards his nose, though his face was quite visible from beneath. With blue eyes and of at least partial Caucasian decent, he was an obvious racial outcast.

The boy seated amongst one in a long row of comfortable seats, awaiting his name to be called by a dedicated teller who would, hopefully, help him settle an outstanding conflict with his credit card bill.

He'd become distracted. He watched the small group of other males, who looked suspiciously like much more than mere troublemakers. Their clothing, while urban and modern, not particularly grubby like those one would normally expect to see two-bit thugs clad in, was identifiably odd.

It was almost as if they were trying _too_ hard to appear 'hip' and 'progressive', like literal wolves who'd thrown the fleece of a sheep over their bodies, in an attempt to hide amongst the herd.

With Uiharu Kazari, and, more importantly, Saten Ruiko thrown into the mix, he'd have to keep an eye on the potential 'problem children'.

Hamasaki Tsubasa, the fourth strongest esper in all of Academy City watched the group as they interacted with one another. They seemed off-put, and occasionally one would raise their voice, only to be shushed repeatedly by one standout individual.

Whoever this individual was, they were obviously the ringleader. A young woman with very short hair, the exact coloration of which couldn't be completely determined and great, dark bags beneath the eyes of her disheveled facial features, she was tall and musclebound, her attire casual and urban, something akin to what "the popular girl" would've worn in a setting in which uniforms weren't permitted.

And yet this very outfit seemed to clash with the persona she projected.

Her brow was perpetually-furrowed, her eyebrows aggressively arched. She'd swear in fluent English at her peers, who seemed to accept her as some type of authoritarian figure. They seemed to proverbially bend the knee to her whims as she barked them out.

Just as Saten Ruiko slipped her debit card into the portable banking machine, with Uiharu Kazari speaking happily in hushed tones to the contented-looking teller who was dealing with the girls, a teller moved to ask those who'd taken to standing off to the side whether they required service, or otherwise needed help with any matters related to finances or not.

She looked happy; a young woman, a bit chubbier than most but by no means unattractive, her dark hair tied up into a hastily-assembled bun. Her suit jacket was casually buttoned up with one or two of its buttons undone, offering the young woman breathing room.

In the time it took for Saten Ruiko to blink, a total of seven firearms were produced, one from within the collective jackets, pockets and even from inside the pants of each of the individuals who made up the strange group. Those weapons among their hoard that possessed iron sights had said iron sights trained on the young woman's head, while the female ringleader's own firearm, a small, once-concealed handgun of some make was trained on the terrified, hyperventilating teller's stomach.

"Get down! On the floor, nooowwwww! I want all of you motherfuckers on the FLOOR! It's a stick-up!"

"Tch."

The fourth-ranked level five, the fourth strongest esper in Academy City rose from his seat. He'd known there was something off, he'd had an odd feeling in his gut. Hit gut was something he'd learned to trust, and yet again it had proved its worth and its apparently limitless loyalty to his cause.

While Uiharu Kazari had taken to the floor, either of her hands behind her head, Saten Ruiko seemed to be whispering quietly to herself. For a moment, the fourth-ranked level five considered that the girl had become hysterical with fear.

But she was doing something strange indeed. Using the natural waste material that had found its way to the bank's tiled flooring, Ruiko looked like she was tracing odd-looking symbols.

"P-please work… p-please still work… l-like… the bush upon Mount Horeb… I c-call for the Theophany, I c-call for the Fires of G-God…"

" _God? "Mount Horeb"? What's Saten mumbling about now? Your Urban Legends can't save you from a bullet, beautiful… or… what if…?"_

Maybe it could've.

Strangely, as if the secret words of some mysterious cipher had been spoken in the correct order, crackling, orange flames formed in the palms of Saten Ruiko's hands.

Saten Ruiko knew about magic. Hamasaki Tsubasa could only click his tongue in aggravation.

Shakily she rose, even as her friend Uiharu Kazari called out for her not to, gathering the attention of some of those who'd engaged in demanding yen from the traumatized teller.

Hamasaki Tsubasa further closed the distance between himself and those who'd mindlessly and pointlessly created chaos in a peaceful place.

"S-stop. Stop it right now!"

"Wha-… a little girl? Go home, sweetheart. You're in over your head. Unless… unless you'd like to come and hang out with us, get to know us better. Every man has his needs…"

"Touch her, and you die."

Saten Ruiko took a step back, her bravado damaged, but not completely crushed. She looked to Hamasaki Tsubasa and then to her potential assailants, those who'd enacted this act of domestic terrorism.

"H-Hamasaki-san?! Where did you c-come fr..."

"Breathe, Saten. Shh."

The opposition was a scruffy-looking individual, with unkempt hair upon his head and equally unkempt patches that'd come to grow upon his face. From within his hooded pullover sweater, he'd produced what some would've referred to as a 'piece'. Small, concealable and silver, the firearm's tiny barrel was trained first on Saten Ruiko, and then on Hamasaki Tsubasa.

Small, concealable and silver, the firearm's tiny barrel was trained first on Saten Ruiko, and then on Hamasaki Tsubasa.

Saten Ruiko cried out to the attackers once more, demanding that they cease their acts of domestic terrorism and take their leave, but no such measures were taken.

Instead, the tiled flooring close to the middle-schooler was shot, causing her to shriek aloud and jump backward.

The scruffy attacker grinned like he was enjoying her anxiousness. Like he was reveling in the fear of an otherwise helpless twelve-year-old girl.

Saten Ruiko had turned to the entranceway doors that lead out of the bank, but they'd been secured. Felons in dark-colored ski masks had taken the point, bearing assault rifles whose barrels were trained on no one in particular.

Just how massive of an operation had these individuals planned?

"Just stop! There's no reason for anyone to be doing this…"

Ruiko's words had begun strong and full of confidence, but as she spoke, her words had become weaker, her voice softer. It had come to sound less like she was demanding and more like she was desperately asking for the felons to cease their activities.

The scruffy brigand shot the flooring near Saten Ruiko once more, causing her to lose her balance and stumble after tripping over her own feet. With a thud and a soft cry of pain, Ruiko fell.

Hamasaki Tsubasa looked from felon to felon. The apparent ringleader was in the process of exchanging heated words with the teller, who claimed that she had no access to 'the vault'.

There was a vault? If it was true, such was news to the fourth-ranked level five.

Rather than focusing his efforts on those who hadn't yet physically harmed anyone, the fourth-ranked level five took to the side of his fallen acquaintance.

Kneeling before her, Hamasaki Tsubasa took the girl's fire-less hands into his own and helped her up, as far as the two could rise. When both attempted to rise fully, they received harsh commands to remain crouching by those who'd taken to guarding the entranceway doors of the bank.

"Hamasaki-san, we can't just let this happen…" Ruiko lamented, looking to her acquaintance and lunchtime conversational partner. "I… I d-don't care about the money, t-they can take all of my money, if they want… I j-just don't want anyone to get h-hurt. C-can't you do something t-to stop them? I… I d-don't really know how to use magi…"

"Saten, please don't talk about that in public. Shhh."

"W-what? Hamasaki-san, how… wh…"

"Shh."

Her beautiful eyes, like large gems, colored a dark shade of blue glistened with tears, of what nature the fourth-ranked level five couldn't have been sure.

Things such as tears marred her beauty.

A small trickle of clear, salty liquid dripped down Ruiko's cheek, slowly moving towards her shaking lips. Her form, innocent and flowered was trembling.

Such a sweet, innocent little girl like Saten Ruiko shouldn't have found herself amid something so horrid as a bank robbery conducted by some unstable stickup artists. Hamasaki Tsubasa simply wanted to take Saten Ruiko into his arms and tell her that everything would be okay.

In that moment more than ever, he was forced to admit it to himself, despite the fact that it was a highly inconvenient truth.

He was in love with her.

He'd been in love with her since they'd been ten and fourteen years old, a time in which they were but children. She was still a child, but that didn't matter. He could wait. He could wait for her to come of age. He could wait a thousand years.

The fourth-ranked level five reasoned that the present wasn't a good time to divulge such thoughts. All he could do was protect her, or otherwise, help her protect herself.

He was only just about to offer an explanation on how he'd rectify the situation when gunfire rang out.

Bullets had connected with and subsequently passed through flesh. The searing and tearing of human skin could be heard, as a mother and father with their child in their arms cried out in terror, their child whimpering pathetically in his parents' arms.

Saten Ruiko let loose a pained, fearful scream as she threw her own arms around the form of her level five acquaintance.

His heart ached at the sounds of her terrified mind reeling; yet, ironically, and paradoxically his rage began to boil.

"What the fuck do you mean you don't have access to the vault?! Cunt, cunt, cunt, CUNT! One of you, one of you stuffed-shirt assholes back there, get us access! We know there's a vault underground! Get us access! NOW! Or we shoot this place up, no survivors!

For a moment, the trembling form of Saten Ruiko looked up to her level five acquaintance.

Her facial features hardened, her lips curling downwards into a frown as her eyebrows aggressively arched.

"W-we've got to do something, Hamasaki-san," Ruiko whispered. "T-th… t-they k-killed h-her… w-we can't l-let them kill anyone else… s-she was someone's s-sister, someone's a-aunt or maybe even s-someone's mother."

Just what was he even supposed to do?

"This is upsetting for you, and it's most certainly upsetting for me. You want to help and, so do I, but you're a level zero and I'm a level five. You think you can do me a favor?"

"Y-yes. W-what… kind of favor?"

"We're friends, right, Saten?"

"Y-yeah? We are. We are friends."

"Then, as my friend, I want you to close your eyes and think about your most favorite Urban Legend. Think about the Raincoat Girl, the Urban Legend we were talking about yesterday, with Uiharu over lunch. Think about that day, the clear blue sky and the chirping birds. Think about it as deeply as you can. Block out any sort of noise you hear, and don't open your eyes… I'll take care of this."

"No… I won't j-just let this happen, Hamasaki-san. I'm not standing by!"

"Saten, get down."

She rose, disobeying the orders given to her.

And then she began to whisper under her breath, repeating memorized words found within the pages of a certain mysterious pamphlet.

Gunfire rang out once more, from behind the level zero and the fourth-ranked level five.


	20. The Mission III

With a deadly combination of combustibles, including gunpowder, a singular bullet was ejected from within the barrel of an assault rifle, wielded by one of the ski mask-clad felons who'd taken to securing the entranceway doors of the bank.

He or she, their features couldn't quite be identified, had leaned forward and bent one of their knees, while the recoil of their rifle wracked their body. They stumbled back momentarily, indicating to Hamasaki Tsubasa that the individual in question wasn't accustomed to wielding such weapons, or dealing with said weapons' recoil. An absolute amateur, if he'd ever seen one.

Saten Ruiko would've, could've, maybe even should've, but didn't fall. No bullets struck her flesh, there were no screams of agony and no lifeblood fled from her body.

Instead, like some feat performed by the Accelerator himself, the bullet was reflected. It'd crashed against an invisible barrier surrounding the form of the fourth-ranked level five esper, who'd taken to acting as something of a living barricade.

Upon impact, the bullet had seemingly stopped moving in mid-air, as darkened, crackling and overall anomalous energy leapt forth from the point of impact like lifeblood spraying from a grievous wound. A sound akin to that produced by rolling thunderclouds was heard, originating from the fourth strongest esper, Voidwalker.

Then, it was reflected. Striking the bullet's felonious once-owner in the leg, identifiably feminine screams rang out from within her ski mask.

It didn't change trajectory; an element such as vector manipulation was too complicated for the fourth-ranked level five esper.

Rather than utilizing the manipulation of vectors, the process behind the bullet's reflection was a much simpler one: basic calculations were performed within the higher mind of the number four, engaging reflection tactics that were applied to a thin and completely non-visible layer of void energy which hugged the form of Academy City's fourth-ranked level five like clothing.

Saten Ruiko had stood there, wide-eyed for a moment, before she apparently managed to get a hold of herself.

With an aggressive huff, her whispering came to a close, and in the palms of her hands, orange flames crackled once more. The middle-schooler spread either of her legs and leaned forward.

Even if she hardly knew what 'magic' was, or how it'd come into the world, or even if there was some sort of limit to how much 'magic' one could use, Saten Ruiko wasn't about to just allow what was happening around her to continue.

"Let the flames of the righteous Lord thy God char away the sins of the sinful!"

While no one, save the fourth-ranked level five esper knew of it, Saten Ruiko, an esper, had used magic without consequence. Truly, something was deeply wrong with that situation; and yet it all made sense.

The words written in those anomalous pamphlets that'd seemingly found their way all over the surfaces within Academy City's great border-walls must've been telling the truth. There must've been a malicious piece of 'code' built into the 'factory standard' AIM Field all espers generated upon being put through the Power Curriculum. They really weren't bluffing.

Then, the fourth-ranked Voidwalker was snapped from his own internal musings.

Plumes of flame surged forth from Ruiko's palms and from between her fingers, like a stream of water ejected from the nozzle of a firehose. Seemingly, it acted of its own accord, seeking out those who held weapons to the unarmed, and those who had gunned down an innocent bank teller who'd done no wrong.

It evidently had flaws in whatever algorithm it utilized, however; the flames didn't seem to do very well when an obstacle was set in its predetermined path.

One of seven felons leapt behind a large plant resting within a larger, thicker pot; Saten Ruiko's flames merely bounced away from the pot upon impact and began to seek out a new target.

Uiharu Kazari screamed aloud, terrified, shaken to her core as a firefight occurred between those who'd taken to guarding the entranceway doors and another party who'd arrived, firing shots through the open entranceway and into the bank.

Could it have been Anti Skill? Would they open fire when civilians were present, essentially but wordlessly held hostage? Kazari didn't know.

She bit into her tongue, suddenly, causing it to bleed as she heard identifiably male screams. Lifeblood leaked into her mouth, and the Goalkeeper tasted it. Coppery and sickening, she suddenly thought that she was going to violently vomit.

It was swishing about, mixing with her saliva. Kazari tasted more and more of her own blood; it offended her tastebuds and repulsed her sense of smell. She could _smell_ her own blood within her mouth.

There was nothing more horrid.

The fourth-ranked level five had joined the brawl. From the open right hand of Hamasaki Tsubasa, the arm of which he'd swung leftwards in an arc, a great, arcing stream of lavender-colored, crackling void energy crashed into, rather than cut through the form of one among seven felons, sending the mask-less individual careening into a nearby wall.

Some had been firing upon the fourth-ranked level five, but they'd ceased their activities upon realizing that such actions were pointless; each individual bullet was simply reflected.

Chaos unfolded and civilization unravelled within the bank; the father of a child and the partner of a young woman tackled one of two gunmen to the ground, while Hamasaki Tsubasa offered him backup; a great, whipping arc of void crashed into the other, knocking the wind from his lungs and sending him stumbling to the ground. He dropped his assault rifle as the void arc was brought down upon his wrist, breaking it.

The mother and her child escaped from the bank and into the waiting arms of Anti Skill. Others followed, including two students from Tokiwadai Middle School and numerous bank employees, none of whom were fired upon.

The fourth-ranked level five and Saten Ruiko, the level zero esper who anomalously wielded the force known as 'magic' had wordlessly formed something of a ragtag team. While Hamasaki Tsubasa remained in front of her, acting as a human reflective shield, Ruiko's plumes of fire continuously raged from the palms of her hands. They caused no fires to break out even when they crossed the leaves of nearby plants and charred only their intended victims; the overpowered felons.

"Fuck off!" The female brigand with the short hair cried, emptying the last rounds of her clip in the direction of the fourth-ranked level five, only to see them reflected, crashing against an invisible barrier that glowed, releasing tendrils of… some sort. She had no concept of what sort of esper power the boy possessed. Whatever the power, the sounds his body produced upon reflecting aggressive projectiles was awful, worse even than the sound of long, sharpened nails being dragged down a chalkboard. It was like the cry of some feral beast.

Out of bullets and almost out of options, she tossed her firearm to the tiled flooring and broke into a run, charging towards Academy City's fourth strongest level five esper. If bullets wouldn't work, then, perhaps fisticuffs would do the trick.

Komaba Ritoku's faction, the Viper Room never backed down from a challenge and she knew it. She knew that creed well and she held it in her heart and she wore it like the thickest of armor.

He took only a single step forward, and so did the dark-haired, blue-eyed girl behind him. That was all he needed. He could tear her apart from afar. The likes of Meltdowner, Aihana Etsu, and Shokuhou Misaki had bent the knee to him.

Some pathetic, worthless level zero who let an oppressive society get the better of them was hardly even worth his time.

Saten Ruiko was the obvious exception. She'd always held her head high. She'd fallen from grace more than once, but Saten Ruiko had always gotten back up. She'd always defiantly spat in the face of oppression, openly revolting against the very concept simply by living every day she had to the fullest. She was beauty unmarred, she, Saten Ruiko, was perfection made physical.

The specimen quickly closing the distance between itself and Hamasaki Tsubasa was no such extraordinary individual.

"Please don't… d-don't hurt her too badly. She's d-done terrible things to innocent people but w-we… we shouldn't stoop to her level. Please… don't kill her. Promise?"

Saten Ruiko had shown far more courage than most would've. She'd taken to standing up for what she believed in, she'd taken to the frontlines and had directly fought against attackers who were, if their actions spoke louder than their words, and they certainly did, more than prepared to kill her.

How could Hamasaki Tsubasa refuse? He couldn't. Regardless of the tenuous current situation he still found himself unable to say no to that girl. Despite his own feelings on the matter, he couldn't deny her.

"I... promise."

Void, the fifth and final of the most important elements of the Eastern World, freely manipulated by the fourth-ranked level five esper, Voidwalker, manifested as a great, malformed arm with an enormous clawed hand, resembling that of a bird's scaled, reptilian foot.

Lavender and crackling with transparent energy, the malformed arm, manifesting from Tsubasa's right hip crashed into the form of the suddenly-terrified and extremely reluctant-looking brigand ringleader, knocking the air from her lungs and causing lifeblood to begin dripping from her nostrils.

Like a baseball that had been viciously hit by a bat, she was sent careening. Through the air, she flew until her form was stopped not by the first, not by the second, but by the third section of walling. The form of the female brigand with the short hair came to rest atop a desk within a small, private room where financial matters would've been discussed in a normal scenario.

Battered and broken, but otherwise alive, she groaned as all went dark, and then she knew no more.

Anti Skill Operatives stormed the besieged bank. Boot-clad feet stomped against the tiled flooring as the state-sponsored authorities crammed themselves into the besieged bank, exchanging heated gunfire with the remaining brigands, who'd apparently formed a plan of action even with their ringleader fallen.

They'd knocked over filing cabinets and flipped over desks, utilizing the pieces of furniture as makeshift cover in the face of Saten Ruiko's plumes of flame. From behind, the brigands exchanged gunfire with Anti Skill forces.

"We're done here," the fourth-ranked level five stated. Taking the level zero esper by the hand, he lead her outwards, through the entranceway whose doors had fallen to the ground, apparently having been ripped from their hinges by some aggressive party or another.

"Let them clean up the mess. This isn't our problem now, Saten. 'sides, Uiharu's going to be worried for you. If we stay around here any longer than we have, Anti Skill might think we're…"

"Uiharu!" Ruiko suddenly exclaimed, looking over her shoulder, and then from left to right. The level one thermal hand user was nowhere to be found. Her heart began beating a mile a minute, and her brow became cold, furrowing uncomfortably as she felt the onset of panic coming upon her like a great bird of prey upon an unsuspecting rodent in a vast field.

"Did you see her escape? Did you see Uiharu get out, Hamasaki-san?"

"Yeah," he lied. "She's out. She's probably waiting right outside for you. C'mon, let's hustle, we looked after as many as we could. Anti Skill will clean this up."

To his relief, he'd been right about that.

Indeed, the form of Uiharu Kazari was among those who'd escaped from the peaceful banking environment turned hellish warzone. While only a small number of individuals remained, obviously attempting to regain their bearings, Kazari hardly looked like she was even conscious.

Sitting upon the edge of one among many large oaken planters that surrounded the ornate exterior of the bank nearest Sakugawa Middle School and Sakugawa High School, she leaned forward, the small floral headband that was always atop her head had fallen to the ground, and she'd huddled her knees close to her chin.

As both Saten Ruiko and Hamasaki Tsubasa neared, it was determined by both that the Goalkeeper was, indeed conscious; her body trembled, though she produced no noise.

Ruiko took a seat next to her old friend. Embracing Kazari, Ruiko pulled the Goalkeeper close and nuzzled her, whispering softly into Kazari's ear. Uiharu Kazari, with eyes bloodshot, face pale and hair messy and unkempt looked to the face of her friend, with its thin, weak smile and broke down, sobbing uncontrollably.

The fourth-ranked level five esper wasn't far, but he could only offer so much of his attention to the traumatized thermal hand user. He spoke on the phone to a party unknown by both Ruiko and Kazari.

"Gladio-Oculus Operative David Horton."

"Horton. Where… where on Earth are you? It sounds like you've infiltrated a Catholic wedding ceremony. Whose baby is the priest touching inappropriately today?"

"Who…? I'll have you know, whoever you are, that I'm currently on active duty. If it's about an outstanding parking violation, you can take your fucking ticket and shove it up your…"

"Horton. It's Hamasaki. Tsubasa. Try that shit with me again and I'll splatter your brains, watch your mouth around your betters. Are we at a mutual understanding? Don't push me."

"A-apologies. Yes, yes. Absolutely… the Project isn't going to come to fruition, Hamasaki-san, not now."

"No. You're entirely correct about that, it's not going to. Not with what's happening. It'd appear that another unrelated party has entered the fray. It also looks as if someone owes Komaba-san's boys, and, evidently, they didn't pay up. Bank near the dormitories got hit."

"H… uh? How do you know it's them? I need proof, son."

"I've got proof. This wasn't some covert job gone bad – they wanted these people to know who did it."

Though Gladio-Oculus Operative David Horton couldn't see it, Hamasaki Tsubasa clutched in his right hand a small patch he'd torn from the jacket of a felon. Round, with numerous spike-shaped protrusions emerging from it, the patch depicted an emblem of sorts. The head of a cobra was depicted, its tongue flickering, its eyes slanted and aggressive-looking.

"Viper Room, Skill Out sub-humans. I assume we here at Gladio would prefer not to step on Komaba-san's toes? That would violate the terms of our agreement."

"No, we absolutely wouldn't want to risk the agreement, having every owner of every shady dance and nightclub owner in the pocket is extremely useful. Don't fuck it up. You didn't fuck it up, did you? Shit! Shit, shit! You didn't kill them, did you? Please don't tell me you killed them."

"I roughed them up and nothing more. I couldn't have… Saten… was there. She knows."

"She knows"? What the FUCK does that mean, and why do I care about your schoolyard crush, Hamasaki? Grab a hold of the steering wheel, you're a level five and a Gladio Operative, not a Light Music Club newspaper geek."

"Cut the sarcasm or I'll cut your neck. She knows about magic. She _used_ magic, in front of… a lot of people."

"Are you FUCKING with me? God! Damnit! Shit, shit, shit! It's spreading! DEGENERATES! I'm sending you coordinates of my current location, get here, one way or another, we need to talk. Gladio's going to have to get involved, and the Oculus will find itself getting dragged in, too. 'Way of the fuckin' world."

"Alright, well, that's good and great, but…"

"Hold your horses, Hamasaki. Sleeper agent... English Puritan if I recall correctly, in the higher-ups of the Dawn-Colored Sunlight is reporting instabilities. Got word to Tsuchimikado, who kindly sent word to me. Reporting that… that little shit, Birdway, she's moving her whole operation towards London. Superweapon. They've got a fucking superweapon. That's the artifact, the artifact's a goddamn superweapon, or it can be a superweapon when it's loaded with demonic something-or-other! They've got a superweapon, but we've got level five espers and rifles with high-powered scopes. We're going to have to kill a twelve-year-old child. Prepare yourself, it won't… shouldn't… be easy."

"It'll be easy. Put me behind the gun, Horton. We'll pick out a headstone together and make it a date."

David Horton had ended the call before Hamasaki Tsubasa could get another word in edgewise.

Of course, he'd hung up. The fourth-ranked level five produced a sigh of aggravation, and, after pocketing his phone, assuring that the expensive device was placed snuggly into the pocket of his uniform's pants, took to the side of Saten Ruiko, who had seemed to have sufficiently comforted Uiharu Kazari.

The Goalkeeper's head had risen, and her feet hung only mere inches from the brown, cobbled walkway below. She still looked like an absolute mess, like she was only half-alive, but it was an improvement nonetheless.

Ruiko turned to look at Academy City's fourth strongest esper, and she offered him a thin but very genuine smile. Despite the tragedy of the situation, despite the fact that everything in his life was going awry, despite the fact that Academy City seemed to be on the edge of a potential chaotic revelation based in another part of the world entirely, Hamasaki Tsubasa managed to smile back.

"Hamasaki-san, I wanted to thank you for…"

"Don't mention it. I wasn't going to walk away."

" _Or would I have walked away? If you weren't there, Saten, would I have turned my back on the place? I dunno. Maybe I would've. I guess that doesn't matter now, does it? I guess all that matters is that you're alright. That Uiharu's unharmed… well, physically unharmed. Poor thing. Nah, you know what? I definitely would've turned my back on the place. Fuck these people, what are they to me?"_

Tsubasa offered the two middle-schooler girls he'd often associate with (an association he was endlessly mocked for by his coworkers and the few friends he kept) a few moments of silence before he spoke his piece.

Academy City's fourth strongest esper casually leaned forward, sweeping his bangs upwards; they almost immediately fell back into place, pulled downwards by gravity's unceremonious and merciless pull.

"How's everyone feeling? They say when you're in a situation like this one, it's good to just let it all out in the open, speak your feelings and hold nothing in, so, let's make like a… I was going to… tell a joke. But it sounded better in my head. Wouldn't sound good in real life, trust me."

She quietly chuckled. It was something at least, enough to bring a small, but significant grin to Voidwalker's face. Saten Ruiko could only shrug either of her shoulders. She produced a soft, melancholic sigh. Her facial expression, ever soft, was one of burden.

"You're probably right… i-it's hard to talk about, though, how do you describe it? It's h-horrible. I have to wonder if the teller lady is going to make it… she was hit… r-right in the… in the…"

" _Throat. Right in the throat, Saten, beautiful. Please don't cry… but people don't just survive that. Not without some serious repairs."_

Ruiko fell silent. Her grip around the shoulders of Uiharu Kazari remained, and she tightened it as she closed either of her eyes. The level zero esper and the anomalous user of magic took a sharp, sudden breath of oxygenized air into her lungs.

"I was a situation like this one before Hamasaki-san, with Shirai-san."

"Really, now? Let's make it a group therapy session, Uiharu-san. Do tell. I've spent enough time on the opposite end of the armchair to know a thing or two about how therapy works. Now give me your money, and I'll tell you that you're fine."

Uiharu Kazari produced a soft chuckle, though it was a weak and pathetic thing, which died soon after it was vocalized and 'born'.

"Something good came out of that because we both ended up working for Judgment, inspired by that… but those people didn't kill anyone! They hurt our Konori-senpai, but they didn't k-kill her… these people, they were… ruthless!"

The firefight had ceased some time prior to the present. Anti Skill operatives had cuffed those felonious involved, and all of those involved had survived.

Each was loaded into the back of a grand (or less-than-grand) total of two Anti Skill operation vehicles, large, vaguely ambulance-like things that were navy blue in coloration, with a singular white stripe on either side of their bodies, rear and front doors. Four were loaded into the first while three were loaded into the second like cargo. Another duo of Anti Skill operates made their way into the bank, armed with a stretcher which they lifted manually.

While silence had descended upon the trio, it wasn't minded. Hamasaki Tsubasa would permit it to stay around for a few moments longer.

Even if he had work to do, even if Gladio would be kicking his ass for showing up late, how was he supposed to know that Horton was going to call him in?

The answer was, he couldn't have known. He should've been let off the hook, given the suddenness of the situation. In the end, _he_ was the one who should've been congratulated; he'd saved lives and he'd reported Saten Ruiko's anomalous use of magic to his 'superior'. Wasn't that enough?

Perhaps Tsubasa, the fourth strongest esper in Academy City simply wouldn't get the recognition he'd deserved.

Perhaps he'd have to find a way to defeat the Railgun first. Stalemates wouldn't do; he needed conclusive results.

But that was a complicated situation and one which could be pondered at a later date.

His phone vibrated, and Tsubasa produced the device from within his pocket. Unlocking it and navigating to the message he'd received from "UNKNOWN SENDER', there were numerous elements included in the electronic message: a map, a set of directions and a set of coordinates, which, upon further investigation via the Internet, lead to a small downtown center in school district four.

What on Earth was the old man doing down there?

Tsubasa waited some few moments more before he spoke once more, turning to peer at both Saten Ruiko and Uiharu Kazari.

"Heads up: a friend asked if I was doing anything… not really the best time, I'm aware, but would either of you be interested in accompanying me? Saten?"

Both Ruiko and Kazari looked to one another. Both knew they'd had plans together, but, that'd changed. In the series of traumatic events of witnessing a failed bank robbery, living through a nightmare reborn and coming dangerously close to being gunned down by maniacs who were more than likely drug-addled and completely unhinged, plans changed. What a surprise, indeed.

Kazari knew exactly why she was feeling so melancholic and, to a lesser extent, almost nihilistic. Her own mortality had been exposed, the frailness of her own body was revealed and she was forced to acknowledge it.

She was in no mood to go anywhere save home.

Saten Ruiko shook her head, and a pang of disappointment traveled throughout the form of Academy City's fourth strongest esper.

"I think I'm going to just wake home with Uiharu and… go to bed or something. We'll have lunch together tomorrow, okay? O-only if you want to. Under different circumstances I'd love to, I always have a lot of fun when I'm with you, but…"

"I understand, Saten. Would you like a bodyguard?"

"A… wha? A bodyguard? I d-don't think that's really…"

"Watch this."

A simplistic calculation was performed within Hamasaki Tsubasa's higher mind. Inside of him, his Personal Reality began to work its proverbial magic.

With both arms, left and right extended and held out at his sides, energy formed in either of the level five esper's palms. Lavender in coloration, transparent, latent power jumped across its surfaces as it bubbled like broth being warmed in a microwave.

His right arm was suddenly thrust forwards, the attached hand thrown outwards. A mass of void energy surged forth, twisting and churning, with many tendrils moving outwards from the surging mass. Like clay in the hands of a sculptor, something was formed by the power of Voidwalker's Personal Reality.

Something was created. Not life, merely a non-sentient, nonliving construct. It began to morph and take shape as both Saten Ruiko and Uiharu Kazari looked on.

Neither had ever seen anything quite like it. Even their friend, the Railgun, couldn't just _create_ things!

Its form was as dark as night, though there were 'globs' of lavender energy that occasionally danced across its form. It was like someone had sliced away a section of the planet, giving way to the infinite, inky blackness of space.

The construct lacked legs, its torso ending in a funnel of twisting lavender energy as opposed to a waist with legs or feet. Its arms were absurdly long, while its hands had three clawed digits upon each. The construct's head was situated in the center of its barrel chest, between either of its broad shoulders. Two 'globs' of lavender energy sat on either side of its 'face', occasionally blinking in and out of existence.

"It's… it's really cool," Ruiko stated. "I don't think I've ever seen anything quite like that before."

Kazari was more focused on the teller who was being brought out from the bank's shattered interior. The injured woman's chest rhythmically moved up and down, repeatedly, and a series of tubes had been inserted into a section of her throat which had seemingly been closed, with the assistance of large, round device and numerous bands of gauss.

She lived. Kazari breathed a sigh of relief. The teller was okay.

Why the Goalkeeper was so concerned with the likes of a woman who she had no knowledge of, lacking even that woman's name, Kazari didn't even know. Ruiko seemed to be relieved as well.

" _Follow Uiharu and Saten, especially Saten. Keep them safe, kill anyone who approaches and threatens them."_

With a basic command 'programmed' into it by its creator's Personal Reality, the void-construct lurched to life, floating in and out of existence, its form crackling as it occasionally looked from one side to the other. While not alive, being more akin to a machine than a living being, the void-construct would perform its given role dutifully; signs of this were immediately evident. It took to the side of Saten Ruiko, its upper body bobbing from side to side as its funnel-like lower body slid about.

"He's kind of cute."

Uiharu Kazari had taken to petting the void-construct, though it paid her existence no mind.

Hamasaki Tsubasa shrugged before he turned away from the middle-schoolers.

"It's genderless. It's really more like a machine than a biological being, 'can take a lot of abuse too before it gives out, don't be afraid to let it take the reigns. I'll be able to hear you through it. Just tell it to go away and I'll make sure to send this big thing back to the abyss where I got 'im from."

Saten Ruiko and Uiharu Kazari alike offered their goodbyes to the fourth-ranked level five and then turned their respective attentions to the existence that dutifully stayed at their side. Saten Ruiko ended up clambering atop the void-construct, her legs dangling in front of its head as it floated along, following the footsteps of Uiharu Kazari.

The fact that the two seemed to be having a decent time, despite the traumatizing events they'd been through lifted the spirits of the fourth strongest esper. He produced a soft sigh as he looked back at them one final time, losing sight of them when he and the two middle-schoolers alike turned a corner.

They were both stronger than most. They'd been involved in matters no middle-schoolers should've ever been involved in. They'd faced down death on more than one occasion and they'd experienced cruel realities that they shouldn't have known about until they were much older.

Academy City was trying to steal both their innocence and their youth.

That was a philosophical issue. That was an issue that, while important, could be put to the side and addressed when free time was available to the schedule of the fourth strongest esper.

There was a new problem on Hamasaki Tsubasa's mind; finding a fast and reliable mode of transportation.

* * *

The group had split up. The makeshift, claustrophobic halls of the 'market', which was beginning to seem more and more like a museum to those who'd taken to searching for nothing, and paradoxically, for everything within its putrid, ancient-smelling innards.

Misaka Mikoto had taken to squeezing through the makeshift halls with Kumokawa Seria – the fact that the two seemed to be hitting things off and getting along so well pleased Kamijou Touma quite greatly – while Tsuchimikado Motoharu and Gladio-Oculus Operative David Horton had taken to conducting their own investigation.

The strange, dark-colored device that the Operative carried had begun to beep loudly, causing both him as well as the Backstabbing Blade to depart initially, creating the splintering exodus.

That exodus ended with Kamijou Touma and Karasuma Fran standing next to one another, looking up at an odd thing, indeed.

It resembled a human being in its shape, though it was easy enough for both the former Bearer of the Imagine Breaker and the fake gemstone to see that it wasn't a human at all.

A robe garbed the vaguely human-like thing, while a tattered, sackcloth hood adorned its 'head', which was made up of a series of intertwisted metallic wiring. A mouldering wooden cane was clasped in is right hand, constructed with more of the same intertwisted wiring. Jagged and lathered with rust, both it and the left extremity were held upwards and outwards, as if the vaguely human-like existence was hunched over an invisible object.

There were two others, constructed of similar materials and garbed similarly to the first, which stood at the front.

These lifeless constructs were far too large to be placed upon a table. Instead, they'd been set against the flooring, left to stand on their boot-clad feet. A small table was set before the three lifeless wire constructs, with numerous pieces of information regarding them, both photographic and textual.

The seller – apparently, the 'market' was indeed a market after all, and not some sort of occult museum – was willing to exchange such priceless 'artifacts' for a mere ¥3,025,621.

That alone was enough to cause Kamijou Touma's rightmost eyebrow to rise above his left.

"Oi, Karasuma… what are these things? Any idea?"

"… the following informational piece describes them as being found within an abandoned house in Norway… which, as far as most know, doesn't have any sort of magical presence… strange. "The Bitterroot Three…" strange… Kamijou. Look here please."

Touma turned to his right, and proceeded to walk away from the "Bitterroot Three". To his surprise, none of the strange, wire-forged idols turned their heads or moved any of their limbs. They simply stood there, lifeless, their faceless wireframe heads staring out at nothing.

"Look. It's strange."

"Oh… fuuuck. What the fuck? F-Fran, that's DISGUSTING."

Among various items set upon a nearby table, identical to all others that formed the 'walls' of the market's makeshift hallways, were many jars, each which contained off, pink-colored creatures.

They vaguely resembled human embryos. Odd-looking, with enlarged heads and thick, paddle-like tails emerging from their backs, their eyes were large, round and black as a clear midnight sky. Their skin was thick and leathery, covered in wrinkles and pocked with large, scab-like growths. An unknown, red-colored substance surrounded each of the queer beings, one to each jar. They looked dead, as they moved not even an inch, not did their eyes ever seem to blink.

"… fertility sprites…." Karasuma Fran stated aloud, raising her right hand's index finger to her lower lip. With her left hand stuffed into her hooded sweater's pocket, Fran tilted her head to one side and blinked.

"They're very ugly. Continuing to look at them might make me ill."

Kamijou Touma poked a jar containing one of the vaguely alien-like "fertility sprites". Once more, to his further surprise, the "sprite" within didn't move, nor did it blink or blow any sort of bubbles. It was either in a state of suspended animation or, more likely, was simply dead.

"You can say that again. This place gives me the fucking creeps. I feel like I'm going to be cursed just from standing near these things. Are you sensing anything? Mana of any kind? You've… you've kind of kept me out of the loop, even though you said you weren't. Guess I understand how it feels, now."

"Hm? Understand what...? Yes. Mana. Lots of mana. Please don't speak with me now. Trying to concentrate."

"Yeah, alright… greeeeaaaattttt."

Fran took a step forward, and then another. And another. Soon, Fran was fully walking, down a series of makeshift halls of tables lined with various surreal trinkets of all types and sizes.

Kamijou Touma looked back to the "Bitterroot Three" one last time. Still, they hadn't moved. Still, they hadn't turned their heads to look at him.

"Kamijou, come."

He clicked his tongue in aggravation. There it was; the set-off point, the straw that broke the camel's back.

"Woah, let's slow it down, Karasuma. I'll come if I _want_ to come. You're not the boss of me, no one tells me what to do. I wouldn't give a shit if you were asking me to come along with you, but the way you're trying to take control of the situation? I'm not standing for it. Really, really, REALLY not feeling that one bit. So, new rule. Interact with me with the respect I _deserve_ , or fuck off."

" _At least Seria and Misaka are reasonable… well, for the most part. Misaka's usually reasonable. But she's no maniac. She's no monster, we all have our problems. We'll solve hers together."_

To say that Karasuma Fran had been taken aback by the uncharacteristically aggressive behavior displayed by the usually complacent Kamijou Touma would be a grand understatement. Fran was physically shocked; she blinked multiple times before her eyelids lowered. She produced a low, unapproving grunt before she 'retried' her attempt at communication with him.

"Kamijou. Come, please."

"Whatever, if that's the best you can do, that's the best you can do. Yeah, I'm comin', I'm comin'."

For a while both walked, making multiple turns down multiple makeshift hallways; once, Fran accidentally bumped into a table which contained the mummified corpse of some sort of creature that resembled a rodent. The table shook and the stand which held its mummified form in place rattled but remaining fully erect.

Kamijou Touma had the strangest feeling that he might've been a tad too harsh; Karasuma Fran had seemed to slow, her movement becoming labored and considerably slower.

What he couldn't chalk up to the fake gemstone merely being offended was the fact that her breathing had quickened. Her breaths, like her body's movements, had become quite labored as well.

"Oi, Karasuma. You alright? Look, I might've been a bit too harsh with you… look, I'm sor…"

"Not that. Please don't speak with m… m-me… no more… i-it…"

"Karasuma?"

"D-dark. E-evil… o-oppressive… I… I w-want to go away from here now."

Fran breathed deeply; despite her own words, she pushed onwards. Touma took to her side, physically decreasing the size of his waist, commanding his nanorobotic form to bend to his converted higher mind's will. With this, he could fit himself snuggly between the fake gemstone and each table he and Fran passed.

"Fran? You're whiter than one of those 'news comedy show' talking heads…"

Both Touma and Fran made one final turn, and found themselves at a dead end, at least down that makeshift passageway. There were other routes that could be taken simply by retracing their respective steps, and that didn't seem like the worst idea to the fake gemstone in the moment.

Her knees had grown weak; if Touma hadn't caught her, Fran would've stumbled forward and collapsed to the floor. Her body vigorously produced sweat, dripping down from her brown, her cheeks, her back and along her chest. Even her legs, which were exposed to the open air by her shorts seemed to sweat, even though no such bodily function was required in that area of her body.

"E-evil… so… so evil. I… I'm g-going… I think that I might be sick."

"Fran, talk to me, keep me in the know. What's bothering you so much? You were fine, earlier, whe…"

Kamijou Touma's vocalizations drifted off into obscurity, fading slowly like words spoken in an echo-chamber.

Karasuma Fran managed to raise her right arm, and with her index finger, she pointed away from her form, towards the absolute pinnacle of the dead end they'd reached.

Among the numerous and potentially 'traumatizing' items that'd be assembled on he many tables that'd come to forge the dead end, including what resembled clothing and clothing accessories made from leather that looked dangerous like tanned and treated Caucasian flesh, was a very strange effigy indeed.

Bound with strands of red string, entrapped within a small, metallic cage, dark as the lack of consciousness that walked hand-in-hand with death, was something that looked almost savage, almost surreal, like an idol to a long-forgotten god that'd been carved by natives on some lost isle.

Sitting beneath the cage was a small sign, which was propped up. Large, bold text was scribbled upon the sign's surface.

" _CAUTION: ABSOLUTELY DO NOT OPEN"._

Its head was almost skeletally thin, elongated and malformed, with large, yellow lips. Long, dull horn-like protrusions emerged from either side of its head and pointed outwards in either direction, left and right. Its eyes were wide, colored grey like fog, with aqua blue rings orbiting either eye. It possessed a flattened nose that lacked nostrils. Its form was thin and looked almost malnourished, while multicolored streaks of paint had been splashed across its torso, its arms, and the post which its skeletally thin, legless upper body was seamlessly attached to.

Whatever dark force this effigy emanated, Kamijou Touma couldn't detect it. He felt nothing out of the ordinary, though, by his own admission, the thing was certainly a bit off-putting.

Whatever it was, Karasuma Fran was absolutely wracked by it. She seemed to choke and attempt, then fail to sputter out words. Touma struggled to pull her limp form away from the effigy, even as her arms twitched, and her ankles seemed to move senselessly from side to side.

Out of the effigy's line of 'sight', Fran seemed to calm. She exhaled, releasing a breath of carbon dioxide. She coughed violently, barely able to lean on her own knee for support as Kamijou Touma let go, but didn't stray far from the side of the traumatized fake gemstone.

"You're going to tell me what the fuck just happened to you."

"Moment. In a moment… please don't s-speak with me right now."

Fran took many deep breaths before she managed to rise, and successfully steady herself.

Touma peered into the fake gemstone's eyes, into her charcoal-colored irises. Her pupils were wide and wild, while the whites of Fran's eyes had become bloodshot.

A singular nanorobotic scout was sent forth from Kamijou Touma's main mass. It latched onto the outer layer of Fran's hooded sweater and then proceeded to crawl into her sleeve. Upwards it fluttered, invisible to the naked eye. Onto her right breast, which was partially obscured by her frilly bra the scout landed.

Fran's heart was beating far too quickly. Her attempts at heartrate-reducing breathing exercises didn't seem to be working any wonders. As the scout detached itself, and began the short trip back to its main mass, Fran stumbled but managed to catch her balance at the right moment.

"Evil. Kamijou, it is evil."

"Yeah, okay? But what do you mean when you blabber about "evil"? What's evil? That goofy-looking thing in the cage?"

Karasuma Fran produced an aggravated huff. She was torn from her higher mind's ponderings by that detestable fool once again.

"I… there are no Daemonic Altars nearby. No foci for summoning. Fell existences. Bound to it. It is a Daemonic Idol, evil sees it as one of its own and they flock to it because it is evil. Evil. That is their home and they are bound to it and they announced their intentions to stay in their home. Warlocks use them… let's leave this vicinity. Evil."

* * *

Misaka Mikoto and Kumokawa Seria were having no better of an experience with the 'unique' section of the diabolical market. Both girls had stumbled into something that resembled a temple to fear, ripped straight from the bleeding, pounding heart of a pediophobe's nightmare.

Like Kamijou Touma and Karasuma Fran, Misaka Mikoto and Kumokawa Seria had found themselves at a dead end. However, rather than facing down a 'Daemonic Idol', they faced…

"Dolls… it had to be… dolls. It could've b-been spiders, a-at least t-they're… cute."

"You think spiders are cute?! You remind me of my friend Uiharu… that's a good thing, though! Eheheh…"

Seria would've laughed, or otherwise would've offered some sort of humorous or flattering quip, but she was almost paralyzed by fear.

So many sets of wooden, synthetic eyes staring back at her. Faces with horrid expressions carved onto them, unnaturally wide grins and noses that were either far too long or far too small.

Misaka Mikoto leaned forward, and reached out with her electromagnetic 'sixth sense'. There seemed to be nothing odd about any of the metallic parts used to construct the many dolls that surrounded the girls.

"Hey… they're just dolls. They can't hurt you, they're just… things. Non-sapient! 'You have pediophobia? No reason to feel ashamed, Kumokawa-san, it's pretty common."

Seria shuddered awkwardly, even as she folded her arms beneath her bosom and stuck her head up, as if she had suddenly found herself in a state of open rebellion against the unmoving wooden army before her.

"A-actually, I d-do suffer from pediophobia… I have since I was a little girl, you see… in fairness, not all constructs of this type trigger these effects. Merely… the humanlike constructs… ugh. That one is by far the worst. Just look at it! It's horrid!"

Following the direction in which Kumokawa Seria's index finger pointed, Misaka Mikoto's vision did indeed fall upon the admittedly unsightly thing.

The size of a small child, the doll's paint was chipped, exposing sections of dull, partially-rotted wooden materials beneath otherwise pink, fleshy coats of paint.

Its grin was wide and almost sinister in its appearance, while its eyebrows rode high upon is brow. The doll appeared to have a sort of wiry mess of unknown, strand-like material upon its head, styled into an asymmetrical widow's peak. Its eyes were wide and almost wild, its painted-on pupils enlarged.

Even Mikoto found herself feeling uncomfortable. The horrid nightmare doll was clad in a fanciful, lavish green garb, with white stockings were accented by buckled shoes, identifiably carved from some sort of lumber.

"If you're about finished here, let's leave, Misaka-san."

"Y-yeah. Sounds good. You know the way back? If we get lost in this place…"

* * *

Unlike the other two de-facto exploration parties that traversed the winding, makeshift passageways of the strange occult market, Backstabbing Blade Tsuchimikado Motoharu and Gladio-Oculus Operative David Horton hadn't found themselves experiencing panic attacks triggered by 'Daemonic Idols', or finding instinctual fear made manifest within a spooky doll.

Instead, both knew exactly, and yet, paradoxically, had no idea regarding who they were looking for. Someone obviously operated the occult market and yet no sales associates of any kind had been found wandering the makeshift passageways. No one had greeted the group and no one had called out to them.

Either of Tsuchimikado Motoharu's hands was placed casually into his pockets. His right hand's fingers held his firearm in a deathly vice grip.

Traversing another set of makeshift passageways, twisting and turning like the halls of some fairy tale dark lord's castle-lair, both spy and Gladio-Oculus Operative spoke not even a word to one another, for no words were needed.

Then, a breakthrough.

There was an opening in the table-walls that made up the makeshift passageway they'd found themselves traversing, flanked on either side by what both parties had identified as sacrificial dolls commonly utilized in Haitian black magic.

Just how Karasuma Fran had missed such things on her initial solo inspection was completely unknown to Tsuchimikado Motoharu, but it wouldn't be for long. He'd grill the fake gemstone until he got the answers he needed. Perhaps she simply hadn't descended deep enough into the metaphorical bowels of the proverbial beast?

Both found themselves leaving the most recent makeshift passageway behind, exiting from the maze of tables and out into a wide, open section of space, most of which was completely vacant. Aside from ornate pillars that supported what must've been the ceiling, or perhaps an upper floor of some sort, there was very little, save the flooring and oxygenized air beyond the maze of makeshift passageways.

"Oooohhhh! Hello, dears!"

Both Tsuchimikado Motoharu and David Horton turned, looking in the opposite direction.

Apparently, both had missed a singular table, sitting on its own. Nearby the adjacent section of walling, its surfaces were covered with knick-knacks of various sizes and shapes, though modern technology also seemed to be present, including, but not limited to a cash register, a calculator and a small clock, which, rather than operating digitally, ticked along as three arms within the clockwork worked their magic.

Behind the table, seated upon a simplistic wooden chair was an innocuous individual indeed; an elderly woman.

Clad in a simplistic hooded sweater, something that at an out of touch uncle would've worn to a Christmas party and a pair of matching sweatpants, both an unsightly lime green in coloration, her hair was short, curled, and white as a blanket of snow. She wore large-framed glasses upon her face, and yet, as both the Backstabbing Blade and the Oculus Operative grew closer, they could see that she seemed to be blind. Her eyes were milky, and her irises were dull, the pupils within even duller.

"Would you need help finding anything? Or are you dears handling yourselves alright?"

"Good afternoon, ma'am. I…"

"Oh, and so polite, too! The young people of today just make my heart soar."

"Ma'am. Would it be trouble if I were to ask you a few questions?"

For a moment, the elderly woman stared back at the Oculus Operative, and the Oculus Operative stared back at her.

From behind the darkened shades of his sunglasses, which he continued to wear even within the darkened, lightless interior of the occult market, Tsuchimikado Motoharu scrutinized the elderly woman's appearance. He observed every pock, every wrinkle and every inch of thick, leathery Caucasian skin that was stretched over her bones like a sheet too small for a bed's mattress.

"Of course, dear. We've nothing to hide after all. If you'd like, I could ask my husband to… oh, where is that old sack of bones? Oh dear, he likely went and fell asleep somewhere."

The elderly woman shook her head.

"His medication does that."

"Is your husband ill, ma'am?"

"Not in the way you're thinking, dear!"

Motoharu turned away, resisting the urge to retch. Apparently, the Gladio-Oculus Operative had a stronger stomach than the Backstabbing Blade. He merely raised an eyebrow, not questioning the eccentric elderly woman's behavior.

Unlike the Operative, however, Tsuchimikado Motoharu wasn't about to be polite, and he wasn't about to be professional.

He leaned forward, placing his left hand on the table's surface, while his right remained within his pocket, its fingers wrapped around the trigger of his firearm.

"Do you have any idea what sort of objects you're in possession of? Do you have any concept of the place that you're operating in? How did you even get in here? I've seen what you're hoarding, bitch."

"Tsuchimi…"

"No, no, dear, that's alright. Let the nice boy finish what he's saying! Interrupting other people when they're talking."

Motoharu sneered before he spoke once more.

"African fertility dolls. Daemoniac Altars. Idols of Shadow. These items shouldn't be left out for anyone to stumble across. A student comes in here, happens to find himself bumping into an Idol of Shadow and he's _fucked_. done. His entire life, his entire family, everyone he's ever talked to, they're all _fucked_."

"You certainly know a lot about the occult for someone traversing Academy City, don't you? You're no student, are you dear?"

"No, and I could say the same about you."

The firearm came out, its barrel pointed directly at the elderly woman's forehead. Tsuchimikado Motoharu's arms shook not even slightly. The Backstabbing Blade clenched his teeth as he dragged out the pronunciations of each word he spoke.

"What the fuck are you hiding?!"

David Horton moved with the intention of forcibly lowered either of Tsuchimikado Motoharu's arms, but the apparently blind elderly woman rose and swiftly intervened, knocking the firearm from the Backstabbing Blade's hands with strength far surpassing that of a normal human, let alone a human who looked like she was on her life's last legs.

"And who are _you_ with, hm? Necessarius? The Roman Orthodoxy? A Crusader, perhaps? The almighty oppressors who would keep the world in chains? Oseltaeb, you'll find the truth of all matters there, my dears. Open your minds and open your hearts."

Horton pressed her.

"What does it mean?! Oseltaeb, what does that mean?!"

The elderly woman refused to respond, but there it was again, that word. "Oseltaeb". That was significant.

That word appeared more than once in the anomalous pamphlets. Given the elderly woman's sudden change of demeanor and the fact that the occult market was operating within the border-walls of Academy City, David Horton had more than a case to make a swift arrest.

The Operative produced his own firearm, and quickly made his way behind the elderly woman, pushing the firearm's barrel against the back of her head.

"I want your hands in the air and I want to see them in the air as soon as you can do so. Based on your blatant violation of code one oh two thirty-three of the Magic-Science Treaty, I hereby place you under arrest through my supreme authority as an operative of the Oculus.

"I'm now to inform you that, due to your blatant violation of code one oh two thirty-three, you've surrendered your basic human rights to a trial and a lawyer. Come peacefully. I can and will shoot if you refuse to comply."

Tsuchimikado Motoharu had scavenged his own weapon, and aimed it towards the elderly woman's forehead, his aim adjusting whenever the woman so much as twitched.

The elderly woman's lips curled downwards, into a scowl. Aggressively, she spoke as the cold metal of a firearm's barrel was repeatedly pushed against the back of her head.

"I've served my purpose, dears. Your oppression already comes undone. You've arrived too late, enforcers of the Old World Order. Whatever tyrannical ruling power you find yourself to act as the brutish enforcers of, it's irrelevant, my dears. The Foul Churches of the world can only hold humanity back from its rightful chance at evolution for so long, until the reigns… snap."

Motoharu clicked his tongue, impatience surging throughout him.

"Holding back… a tide of conflict based on direction violations of the Magic-Science Treaty? The Treaty keeping conflict at bay?"

Sighing, the elderly woman looked downwards. Tsuchimikado Motoharu never allowed his gaze, nor the barrel of his firearm to leave her for even a moment.

"You seem to think you're the protagonists, the heroes of this story… you can't halt the Will of Taured. Do you really think what your Churches do is right? It is oppression. It is a modern day Roman Empire."

"That's a bit of a stretch."

"Maybe. It is… you can't stop truth, even with the power of your youth, dear. You, the oppressors of humankind will only get so far befo—"

Bang.

David Horton had cut short the debate between the elderly woman and the Backstabbing Blade. He looked down at her slumped-over form; she'd fallen forwards and crashed against the desk she'd been standing before. She'd been pistol-whipped.

A necessary evil, once which David hardly regretted. Men and women encountered misfortune every day, and to boot, he obviously hadn't gunned down any unknowing civilian.

"Better late than never. Tsuchimikado, wait for Voidwalker."

"My favorite person."

"He's far from personable, I know, deal with it. Rendezvous, I'll secure the premises. We're going to need to call it in, can't let Birdway get too far with her own movements either. You organize the counter-offensive against Birdway, and we'll clean this up and get some answers out of Mrs. Thornhill, here, while we're at it. Do you understand your orders?"

"Perfectly… only one issue. I was hoping to be able to make arrangements ahead of time."


	21. The Mission IV

"Oi, Misaka, Seria. Good thing you managed to find your way out. 'Like a fuckin' maze in the… hey, Seria, you don't look so good. Everything okay? Y'know, on the low… do you feel like something's watching you? I'm getting that pretty bad."

Though Touma had posed an inquiry to Seria, it was Fran who'd decided to answer the call.

"It would seem that the others have also been negatively affected by our time in this place. There is much wrong here, much evil."

Both Misaka Mikoto and Kumokawa Seria looked to one another, and then to Kamijou Touma and Karasuma Fran. They must've found themselves drifting off in their own direction as well. There hadn't been any sort of order, spoken or unspoken, to stick together as one group, though a quartet could've likely faced down dozens of malicious-looking dolls or a hellish effigy better than a duo.

"Everything is well enough, Touma-kun," Seria remarked, her form still shuddering. "Too many dolls. Misaka-san and I encountered far too many dolls… as for being watched, now that you mention it, I do… feel something strange may come upon us."

Mikoto seemed much less negatively affected, at least by the sights of the dolls that'd surrounded them. She did, however, seem to shy away from the strange-looking, taxidermized creature that sat upon a nearby table.

What exactly it was, no one among the quartet knew, and Kamijou Touma's data-gathering protocols came up with a mere half of an answer; according to those protocols, it was related closely to the Meercat, even though it looked nothing like a meercat, and more like a rodent that one would've found crawling about in sewer muck.

Misaka Mikoto shuddered, at the sight of the thing. It resembled some type of rat, though its snout was unlike that possessed by any sort rodent the electromaster had ever come across. Its snout was elongated and ending in an odd, star-like fleshy protrusion.

"Now I'm creeped right out, to the bone. Let's… let's split. As in leave… I'm feeling it too, being watched. I dunno if anyone's here, but I don't wanna find out. Let's seriously just split."

All parties involved seemed to agree with Misaka Mikoto's proclamation of surrender, and as such they followed her lead.

Through winding makeshift passageways, the quartet moved, exercising care not to bump into anything as they walked in a single-file line, like a series of soldiers about to be deployed to fight in some foreign land.

Once, Karasuma Fran nearly stumbled, though this occurrence almost came to be more out of the fake gemstone's inherent clumsiness than out of any instinctual flight-or-fight thought processes having their wires tripped.

Soon, the quartet found themselves before an opening of sorts; a space where no table cluttered with arcane artifacts existed. It was something different, something unexpected.

The silence permeating the area that followed the quartet was almost deafening in and of itself.

Mikoto had originally considered attempting to think of a subject that could break it, but the third-ranked level five didn't have to ponder for too long. She, rather than contemplating a topic of conversation, had one thrust upon her as her eyes' vision fell upon it.

Placed upon one of what must've been thousands of tables, this table in particular being one of two that flanked the opening, was something truly morbid at least by the Railgun's standards. It was covered in dust and flanked by cobwebs, though its overall existence could be seen even beneath the partial, naturally-produced obstructions.

Karasuma Fran seemed to have noticed the oddity too, as she'd begun to move towards it before Misaka Mikoto could even point it out, grabbing the respective attentions of Kamijou Touma and Kumokawa Seria.

In fact, only she had noticed it, because of the suffocating, toxic mana that was produced by the thing. The ungodly mana permeated the thing, hovering over it oppressively, like a cloud of noxious dust.

"Oi, Fran… not again. Don't go stumbling into another demon-idol or something. You feel alright?"

"Say what, now? What's this about demon-idols?"

"Long story, Seria."

Fran turned to face the trio who'd come to crowd around her. The fake gemstone stood before the odd, crude construct, either of her hands placed on the table which the construct was placed upon.

Mikoto moved to curiously reach out for it; her hand was subsequently stopped in mid-air by Fran, who, as gently as possible, slapped the extremity away.

"Daemoniac Altar. This was used for evil things. Terrible, terrible things."

Kamijou Touma, still apparently ever the skeptic chimed in.

"… only one problem with that; it's the size of a VHS tape."

Regardless of its size, the thing was macabre by the standards of both Kaizumi Tsugutoshi's 'brain' and the third-ranked level five esper.

Small bones, likely those of a bird, or perhaps those of a rodent or other type of little frolicking creature flanked either side of the Daemoniac Altar, while balanced on a bone larger than all others that were present on the Altar, at the forefront, was a skull. Resembling that of a squirrel's, the skull's jaw had come to flop open haphazardly, leaning to one side.

Fran grumbled as she pushed Touma's head towards the tiny Altar with her hand; Kumokawa Seria certainly hadn't taken kindly to the act of unrequired aggressiveness. With ease, she pulled Touma to the side, away from the fake gemstone, whom she shot with a look that could've killed, if glares alone were capable of such feats. The third-ranked level five didn't seem to be particularly fond of Fran's actions, either; for a few moments, electricity leapt from her forehead.

"… deeper, peer deeper. Examine the photograph. Daemoniac Altar used in a ritual of vengeance, a crime of passion. Someone bargained with powers they should have left be to accomplish earthly goals… they sacrificed what would've lasted for an endless number of years, for satisfaction that will last them less than a hundred."

All four sets of eyes were focused on the photograph, which Fran had pointed out. It was held in place only by a small number of thumbtacks, a grand total of three. The photograph itself was faded, worn and weathered, with small holes present, revealing portions of the dark-colored altar beneath. Black and white in coloration, the photograph looked to have been taken by an old world camera.

Mikoto found herself gulping, and Seria just barely supressed a gasp, not of horror but of shock. The photograph depicted what looked like a married couple on their wedding day. The groom, thin, tall and proud, had his face unobscured, his form untouched. Through his groin, a thumbtack was placed.

The bride hadn't quite gotten out as lucky as the groom had, if lucky was the correct descriptor to use in such a situation.

Her face was obscured by a thumbtack, which was pushed through it. As well, there was a thumbtack pushed into her upper body, close to the section of her lower torso where her womb, or perhaps her uterus would've been located.

Between the bridge and a groom, a small form clad in a fanciful, flowing white dress, with ornate white sandals adorning its small feet had its face obscured, a thumbtack pushed through it as well.

"Jealousy," Fran spoke. "If the Daemoniac Altar fulfilled its purpose, these four people are no longer on this Earth. Their consciousnesses are the playthings of evil."

"… four…?"

Kamijou Touma and Misaka Mikoto both shared an inquiry, though Mikoto hadn't vocalized her own query.

Seria, to Touma's right, her arm wrapped around his owned leaned in, close to her kohai's ear, and softly whispered into it.

"Touma-kun. Four people. There's a tack pushed into that bride's stomach. She must have been with a child."

Touma clicked his tongue in aggravation. Both Mikoto and Fran looked to their mutual benefactor. Quickly, he stepped away from the ground and from the Daemoniac Altar, nearly crashing into several tables behind him. Touma had only just saved himself from causing some sort of domino effect, by balancing his form's weight at the last second.

"Fuuuuuuck this… this is too fucked, even by my standards. I'm out. I'm completely out, this is completely warped. Look, who goes and kills unborn babies with black magic curses? It's all sick."

Mikoto understood after a moment's contemplation, and she too turned away, disgusted. She shuddered slightly.

"That's abhorrent! Touma's right, it's sick! Who could do that to an unborn child?! To a married couple with a living child? They killed the little… it looks like a girl… then, too? Whoever set this deathtrap up? They killed four people? Why? Just because they were jealous? Because they didn't get their way?! To Hell with that!"

Fran nodded. Mikoto looked as if at any section, she was about to vomit. The Railgun clutched her stomach and groaned, like she'd just eaten something that was actively disagreeing with her gut.

Though none among the quartet knew, a fifth individual had reacted to the Altar's true purpose, as well. Invisible to the naked eye, her lips parted, her pupils dilating as her eyelids widened. Then, she gritted her teeth.

Such horrors plagued the world.

The four soon came to the silent, agreement to leave the premises via the nearby opening between two tables. Through the opening the quartet passed, entering, to their collective delights and reliefs, an open area, free of tables stacked and cluttered with the nonsensical, disturbing and in some cases outright evil knick-knacks from Hell.

"Oi, Misaka," Touma remarked. "You're a rich Tokiwadai girl. Do you think you can pay for my therapy?"

"Buzz off," Mikoto retorted, apparently on board with the potentially tasteless joke. "I'm going to have to pay for my own after this… pardon my language, this crap."

"Filth-mouth Misaka here, eh?" Touma mockingly inquired, to which the Railgun responded by shaking her head, and uttering a soft, humorless chuckle.

"A solid drink or twenty would suffice in my case," Seria quipped. Shrugging her shoulders, she held her head high, confidence beaming from within her, even if she didn't feel all the confident.

Having her own arm wrapped around her kohai's was a morale boost, but it didn't silence the thoughts, and it didn't end the seemingly endless onslaught of inane and troubling contemplations.

At least her kohai certainly seemed to enjoy it. While his temper had momentarily flared, Touma seemed to settle once she re-established physical contact. An interesting development, indeed.

Everything seemed to be clear; evidently, Tsuchimikado Motoharu and the old Yank David Horton must've been within the maze. Or had the two beaten the quartet to the proverbial punch? Perhaps they'd made their way outside.

Kumokawa Seria contemplated more within her higher mind as Mikoto looked from one side to the other, confused; did the occult market have no staff to tend it and ensure that it was secure?

"Take your leave from this accursed place. A trail is here and I will follow it. I can hold my own should push come to shove. Tsuchimikado is beyond, awaiting. He has a plan for you."

Fran proceeded to make her way opposite the trio of Touma, Mikoto and Seria. waddle off on her own. There was a thin, barely-extant trail of mana. Off the fake gemstone and Anglican Church spy went, deigning to seek out the location to where the trail lead by herself.

"Of course he does! He's always got a 'plan' for something, doesn't he?! Fuckin' snake! All he ever does is plan, and scheme, and stab everyone and everything around him right in the BACK, when they're not looking!" Touma exclaimed, taking multiple steps forward.

Fran didn't rise to the bait, if bait was indeed what Kamijou Touma had proverbially laid before out him through his vocalizations. She couldn't approve of the Backstabbing Blade's methods either, but one thing was for sure: they worked. He always got the job done, and sometimes, that was all that mattered.

"… Kamijou, you are far too temperamental for his own good."

Soon, the fake gemstone disappeared through a rickety-looking wooden door; whatever laid beyond was an unknown to the trio that remained within the open space, but the aggressive voice of David Horton could be heard. Seemingly, he was grilling someone, someone who was having anything but a good time, if their pleas for mercy were any indication.

Touma threw his hands downwards and began to pace.

"Sorry. Didn't mean to… lose it like how I did, it just came out. Fuck, he pisses me off so much."

Mikoto simply patted the boy, who wasn't really a boy, on the shoulder supportively. She offered him a crooked and forced-looking grin, but the it was the thought that counted. Touma could admit that much, and the effort was certainly appreciated, apparently by both him and his senpai, who offered Mikoto an approving nod.

"Well, no reason to spend any more time in this hellhole than we have to. Before we go anywhere though, if you don't mind me prying, you said earlier when… uh… erm. When we were in that strange car-like… thing… earlier, uh… BASICALLY! What you said was that there was something you wanted to talk about when we were done with this? And I think we're done, sooooo… let's talk about something less depressing and/or disturbing!"

"Sooooooo," Touma acknowledged. "Seria? Do we let Misaka in on our secret?"

Kumokawa Seria took a wild guess, regarding what sort of tactic her kohai was employing. Aware of the fact that Kamijou Touma, along with individuals he referred to as his "housemates" were intended to traverse the great body of water separating the landmarks of Academy City and London, England, Seria could only assume that Mikoto had sought to accompany him on whatever journeys he undertook.

While there certainly wouldn't be an issue with such an accompaniment, so long as her kohai kept his word regarding his respect towards her feelings on the matters revolving around a 'group effort', there was a query that drifted through Seria's higher mind.

Was a younger girl such as the Railgun prepared? She'd been through much, but those incidents had been in the past. Even Seria, who barely knew the Railgun could tell that she was burdened by a great deal of mental and emotional stress.

Maybe that was for Misaka Mikoto to judge. Only she could truly understand herself.

Emerging from her musings, Seria came to realize that her kohai had already begun to exchange words with the third-ranked level five. Evidently, she'd offered her kohai the 'go' signal, unconsciously.

"I'm not sure of the details myself," Touma admitted; the details of what subject, exactly, were an unknown variable at best. "I do know what the snake told me about him, or maybe it? It's crazy strong, if what he's saying is true, and I honestly have my doubts about the veracity of his claims."

"Then we're in agreement there," Mikoto quipped. She'd folded her arms across her chest, and had tilted her head to the left.

"This "Jack" is supposed to be crazy strong," Touma began once more, "as in, made a fool out of people that would give _you_ trouble, Misaka. We might be able to take him together, but… even then I'm not sure. If he defeated Kanzaki then I really don't know what kind of monster we'd be dealin' with."

The Railgun skeptically raised an eyebrow.

"Kan… who? I don't think I know who you're talking about. A friend of yours, a magician? A… I don't even have to ask do I? She's a she, right?"

"Yup. Surprise!...?"

Seria failed to suppress an awkward giggle. That just figured, didn't it? Of course Kamijou Touma would associate with some overpowered battle-girl.

He was almost too predictable sometimes.

"Not in the slightest," Mikoto remarked, producing a chuckle of her own. "So, where is this guy hiding out? Where's this "Jack" stashed himself? District ten? Place is a dump, plenty of abandoned buildings for a freak to hide in. Seventeen's full of shipping containers, "Jack" could be hiding in one of those."

Touma shrugged either of his shoulders before he stuffed his hands into his pockets. Being truthful with himself, he didn't know if Mikoto was even fit to go anywhere save perhaps to a doctor's office, or to a psychotherapist's comfy seat, where she could cry out her problems and receive more legitimate mental health counselling from someone far more professional than himself.

For some time her behavior had been of a concerning nature; and yet she seemed to be making so much progress in that department. The day's events with Misaka Mikoto at his side had been stable, and she'd been more understanding than ever before, though, that was nothing new.

Seemingly, with her mental instability, there was a silver lining, no matter how dull; the Railgun was mellowing out significantly. Whether it was the result of legitimate mental growth or crippling nihilism, Touma couldn't quite be certain.

He decided there and then. He'd tell Mikoto the truth about the nature of his "mission". She obviously wanted to help, and, by no means was her presence not welcome.

Getting close to her had become a priority. Even if neither of them could properly show it, Kamijou Touma knew he loved Misaka Mikoto, and he knew Misaka Mikoto loved him back.

And that she did. Good God, how she loved him. She was within reach of her goal; the Railgun could practically _taste_ it.

" _Just say something to me, you Idi… person who sometimes behaves in a manner that could be viewed by some as moronic! Gah! Cut that out, he's not an Idiot! You're an Idiot for calling him names after everything he's done for you! You're… you're dirt. You're unappreciative, sick-in-the-head dirt. You're… GAH! Hold it, Mikoto! You're trying, right? That's what counts. You're aware that this thing is a problem and you're working to deal with it, so that's good. Keep it up, Mikoto. Go, you."_

To the Railgun's surprise, it was the form of Kumokawa Seria who'd grown closer to her, though Touma had stepped forward as well. With a concerned look on her face, Seria leaned inwards.

"Misaka-san? You're looking almost sickly. I do hope everything is alright."

"Oi, Misaka. Want to find somewhere to take a seat? Seria's right, but I guess that's not really remarkable… she's right a lot of the time, eheheh… joke's not working okay this is kind of awkward just act natural Kamijou."

His antics earned him a genuinely amused giggle from the Railgun. She shook her head from side to side, and then puffed out her chest, raising her head high.

"I'm fine. Never been better!"

"Look, Misaka. Here's the fact of the thing. Jack's not here. He's not in Academy City and he's not even in Japan. Hell, he's not even anywhere in Asia; he's in the United Kingdom. London, England."

That changed everything.

Misaka Mikoto felt herself begin to sweat; was the room becoming smaller, or was she just experiencing some sort of stress-induced hallucination?

She needed fresh air.

"Breather time! C'mon, friendsies! Let's go outside so I… WE can get some fresh air!"

Mikoto skipped along like a little pretty princess through a field of flowers; Touma and Seria could only look to one another, concerned, as they reluctantly followed behind. There was another doorway nearby, with a wooden door within its frame's confines; whether it lead outside or into another room within the occult market, none among the trio knew, and the Railgun hardly seemed to care.

Had the Railgun finally snapped?

Indeed, the rickety, old-looking door lead beyond the occult market's walls, and out into what looked like a side alley of some description; barely any natural light seemed to be able to shine there, as most of the area beyond the doorway was darkened, though 'blotches' of sunlight could be seen, sparsely 'placed' about.

Misaka Mikoto had been right about one thing, for certain; the fresh air was almost delicious, palatable even. The air within the occult market had stunk like aging furniture, and it'd never been more evident.

Unfortunately for Kamijou Touma, he could only make educated guesses of this fact, based on the shared, visible relief of Seria and Mikoto. He could breathe no oxygenized air himself.

An alleyway it was. A small indent between the occult market and the food-related establishment directly next to the market, it couldn't have been any wider than the tiniest of broom closets. Numerous metallic dustbins were visible, though there was no litter to be found.

Kumokawa Seria's ears perked up; Misaka Mikoto's already had. She'd come to a complete halt, and had stood up on her toes, listening to the vocalizations that rang out freely.

"Horton's got the old bitch, don't get your shit in a coil. You're with me on this op and that's final."

A voice unknown to both Seria and Touma spoke mockingly in response.

"Is it, now?"

"Damn right it is. Something tells me we're going to need your firepower if we're going to get a good grip on Jack, and get this… Soulgrinder… from Birdway. Have you conveniently forgotten what you owe our Oculus Operative?"

"Nope. A tad hard to forget when you loan sharks are constantly throwing it in my face. I do have to ask one question."

"Spit it out, Hamasaki."

"What happened to making this "Jack" disappear, uh? Why're we suddenly getting a "good grip" on him now? Easier to tank n' spank than play to play the hostage-taking 'secret service' G-man game."

"Because I have some questions for him… connected with this Sons of Taured posse, the party causing this mess. He's connected. Mind your place and do as I tell you. You'll make it out just fine."

Mikoto clicked her tongue. Pressing her form against the nearby wall, which was surprisingly cleanly, given that it was part of an alleyway, she clicked her tongue again.

"Oi, Misaka…?"

"Shhh."

"Misaka-san?"

"Not now Kumokawa-san… s-sorry… that's not s-someone you want to tangle with. What's HE doing here?! No-good Idiot! He knows about magic too?! Who doesn't know about magic?!"

Looking over her shoulder, Mikoto wordlessly hissed.

"There it is! Something's watching us, I feel it. I fucking _feel_ it… I can feel eyes!"

Kumokawa Seria immediately took control of the situation. Situating herself next to Misaka Mikoto as the two voices continued to exchange fairly-heated words beyond the alleyway, Kamijou Touma watched on, curiously, while he ordered his converted higher mind to record the entire exchange that was taking place beyond the trio's respective lines of vision.

"You'd be riding against Gladio High Command. We want Jack dead, not captured."

"I'm aware, Hamasaki. He's involved with this mass attempt at public unrest, he confessed his membership. "Spring-heeled Jack" is part of this… Sons of Taured. Unless it was a smokescreen. Therefore, we need to find out more. Therefore, we need Jack in chains."

"Easier said than done."

"We'll find a way. Necessarius and their many butt-buddies have their trump cards, and one of those cards is a monstrosity calling itself "Kamijou Touma", but we'll deal with him later. That's another story for another day."

"I don't think he'd appreciate you sayin' that. I wonder what would happen, if someone were to… leak such information, huh? Wouldn't that just be a pain?"

"Don't push me, fourth-string."

Seria rested either of her hands upon Mikoto's shoulders, and she leaned in. She offered the Railgun a comforting smile, and then stood upright, tossing her dark, feathery hair back, as if she lacked the emotion known as 'fear'.

"I feel it too. Try not to pay too much attention to the issue, Academy City has many means of mass surveillance. Misaka-san, if you'd be comfortable with doing so, why don't you tell me a little bit more about that person who's speaking with Tsuchimikado… - _san_?

"That depends. Are you an esper, Kumokawa-san? This g-guy's… h-he's like… like… A…A…. Acc…"

Misaka Mikoto seemed to be suffering from some sort of crash; it was as if she'd completely frozen up. Mikoto struggled for a few for moments to pronounce that name, to get it out of her mouth and into the world where it could be heard and understood.

It was proving easier in concept than in fundamental action.

Touma took her hand into his own, and gently held the extremity. Mikoto breathed a sigh, and tried again to speak the name of the number one strongest esper.

"Gr. He's like Accelerator. K-kind of. He can reflect things."

The fear she was obviously experiencing was detectable from a mile away. The very thought, the very idea that, even after all the time that'd passed, Accelerator still got to her – it ate away at Kamijou Touma.

The fact that he'd allowed that bastard to emerge from the switchyard in school district seventeen was a testament to the pathetic, hollow nature of "dead Kamijou".

That monster, the murderer of ten thousand people, he who'd effectively destroyed Misaka Mikoto's chances at a 'normal, everyday life' had much to answer for. He would someday pay for his crimes, an eye for ten thousand eyes, even if the entire world had to pay, by collectively going blind.

Suddenly, Touma was snapped from his inner considerations; Seria merely giggled, softly, in response to Misaka Mikoto's words.

"I have considerable experience with conflict resolution, both peaceful and… non-peaceful. I lack any sort of esper ability that this City is aware of, but the machinations of the higher mind is often mightier than an application of brute force. Now, why don't you tell Beauty-Senpai what's the matter, hm? Is this individual bullying you, Misaka-san?"

Kamijou Touma, watching the events playing out before him, wondered for a moment if Kumokawa Seria spoke to her sister, Maria, in a similar manner.

"N-not bullying! I d-don't get 'bullied!" Mikoto quickly snapped, with more force in her vocalizations than she'd intended.

Regardless, Seria didn't seem offended. She merely giggled, ruffled Mikoto's hair (much to Kamijou Touma's surprise) and then continued to speak.

"Then what's the matter, Misaka-san? You can tell me. We may not know one another well, but I'll have you know that many of my kohai come to me with their thoughts and concerns. I like to think of myself as being something of a confidant. Ask my favorite little kohai of them all if you'd like confirmation."

Mikoto looked to Touma, who'd let the Railgun's hand fall back to her side. She tilted her head, as if to silently inquire as to whether Kumokawa Seria spoke the truth or not.

In response, Touma nodded his head affirmatively.

"If you explain to me what this person does that troubles you so much, we can work to form a plan of action, hm? I think that sounds like a good scheme."

"A scheme?"

"Relatively speaking."

Misaka Mikoto shrugged, and then breathed another sigh. She'd been sighing a lot lately.

And furthermore, the Railgun found herself wondering even more just how this young woman was supposed to be a 'tyrant' or some sort of overbearing taskmaster. Kumokawa Seria almost seemed like some sort of mother figure, or a sort of supportive big sister. Perhaps she had a younger sibling of her own?

"So? Where are they, spy? If this was a setup, know that I won't be falling easily. You have your work cut out for you."

"Push off, Voidwalker. If the people in charge wanted you dead, you'd be dead."

"Not if I killed them first."

Apparently, the fourth-ranked level five wasn't in the best of moods; that didn't bode well for the Railgun. It also seemed that Tsuchimikado Motoharu was becoming antsy as well, as if that was going to help anything.

Without uttering a word, she gulped.

She hasn't felt so nervous, so lacking in confidence in her own abilities for a long time. Not since those dark days that Kamijou Touma had ended with a power in his right hand, one which he no longer possessed.

Not since the Experiments had Mikoto felt so utterly vulnerable.

"He's… he's called Voidwalker. Fourth strongest esper in Academy City. He's…"

Seria stopped the Railgun in her tracks. Placing her hands on her hips, Seria posed an inquiry.

"Is Mugino Shizuri, the Meltdowner, not the fourth strongest esper? I do recall the Meltdowner repeatedly involving herself and her group of mercenaries in affairs which she had no business involving herself in… though that was long ago. I suppose times change, don't they?"

A chill ran down Misaka Mikoto's spine. The fact that Voidwalker had evidently conquered or otherwise outwitted the Meltdowner was a testament to his brutality or to his cunning, perhaps to both.

"She was," Mikoto corrected. "Voidwalker must've beaten her. He must've beaten the sixth, whoever they are, and he must've been able to resist Shokuhou's ability too. Now the sixth is the seventh and Shokuhou is sixth."

At that, Kumokawa Seria couldn't supress a satisfied grin.

"Then… that just leaves me, the second, and… him. Acc… A… A… Accel… Accelerator. I t-think Voidwalker wants to become number one, and so he's been… he's been harassing me non-stop, I'm just really not in the mood to senselessly fight someone. He almost beat me, but our last fight ended in a tie. This is definitely payback for me, and I know it, but it still sucks. I just want to be left alone."

"Together, Misaka."

Mikoto looked to Kamijou Touma. Shrugging either of his shoulders, ribbons of machine-phase matter danced across his nanorobotic form. Kumokawa Seria felt a shiver run down her spine.

He was almost frightening when he held himself like that, chest thrust outwards, head held with confidence and almost an almost radiating sense of power.

"You and me, we take this Voidwalker guy together. You say he can reflect things? Look, he doesn't manipulate vectors like Accelerator, right?"

"I don't think so. He just reflects my attacks, he can't change the trajectories or anything."

"Heh. That's convenient. I can just phase right on through. C'mon! Let's go, Misaka, Seria. Let's see what we're dealing with. We'll do this together, as equals, show this Voidwalker guy what for. You and me? We're the cavalry, Seria has always been the brains, gives us balance. She's ridiculously smart, a crazy good tactician if all the times I've lost when we played Traps and Trolls are any indication…"

Seria folded her arms beneath her ample bosom, and shook her head, no, for a moment.

"Your compliments are dearly appreciated, my kohai. I wasn't aware that there was a shift in the number of level fives."

"Same here," Touma admitted, reluctantly. "No problem. You deserve the praise."

Seria, while the Railgun wasn't looking, affectionately pecked her little kohai on the cheek, further cementing her show of appreciation.

"However, I do want to pose this: there's a chance that this… 'Voidwalker' won't want to fight. Additionally, if he's having dealings with Tsuchimikado- _san_ , I have a feeling he may be friendly, or at least not openly unfriendly to us, Tsuchimikado's 'allies', at least in-name-only. Your involvement here might change things between the two of you, Misaka-san. Keep an open mind?"

"Yeah… I'll try, Kumokawa-san. Hey, before I forget, something I wanted to mention to you. I might not get another chance to do so… uh, so…"

Either of Misaka Mikoto's cheeks had begun to glow a bright shade of red, almost like the color of a cherry's outer layer. She looked to the ground beneath her buckled loafers, while she shifted her weight from side to side.

"T-thanks for talking to me and… just for caring I guess. You're really nice, Kumokawa-san. I hope we can be friends. Maybe you'd like to do something sometime? Together? You're… I don't think I've met anyone as friendly as you in a long time. I don't think I want to lose contact that easily, you know? Not often you come across someone you can really connect with. Well, t-that's the case for me at least."

Kumokawa Seria seemed taken aback, at first. Had she really changed that much? Had she really evolved to such a drastic degree over the month in which she thought Kamijou Touma to have met a tragic and unthinkable fate?

Had his fate, a possibility but not a concrete 'end' at that point in time really changed her so very much?

She was supposed to be cunning and manipulative, the person who looked not at the smaller things and the smaller people but always at the bigger picture, to the horizon. The person who befriended those around her only for her own gain, and for the betterment of 'the bigger picture'.

What even was 'the bigger picture'?

Whatever the case, it seemed that much had changed. It seemed that like so many others, Kamijou Touma had caused Kumokawa Seria to change even on a fundamental level of mental operations.

Maybe she'd only just come to notice or realize it, she couldn't be sure.

"You're very sweet, Misaka-san. You're a very kind girl yourself," Seria finally managed to answer, seeking to not keep the Railgun hanging on a proverbial thread for too long. "I-I'd love to. F-forgive me if I seem stunned, I don't often receive such invitations or such praise. It's very much welcomed."

With either of his hands placed into his pockets, Touma was quietly chuckling to himself. Squeezing himself into the space between his senpai and the third strongest esper in Academy City, Touma initially attempted to casually place an arm around either of their shoulders, but the height difference between the two was considerable; considerable enough to cause his form to wind up lopsided.

Instead, as if to 'salvage' the failed attempt, Touma patted both Seria and Mikoto on their respective shoulders.

"Makes me happy to see two people I love so much getting along like this. Seria's a charmer, isn't she?"

"She's way nicer than some of the other company you keep," Mikoto acknowledged. "That nun you keep around can be a bit of a bitc… I mean, a not-very-nice-person sometimes, and that blonde girl reminds me of Kuroko."

Seria merely bowed her head in response, a silent 'thank you' offered in exchange for the Railgun's kind words. It felt good, improving someone else's mood, helping someone else up out of a rut, even if said rut was relatively minor in the grand scheme of things.

Seeing that adorable little girl's smiling face made Seria's heart skip a beat.

She did have to wonder: what 'nun' was the Railgun talking about?

Regardless of that matter, it was an exotic and unfamiliar feeling. Did her kohai feel similar sorts of things when he assisted those who needed assistance? Was that why he'd always go out of his way to involve himself in matters that he had no place in?

Soon, Kamijou Touma, Misaka Mikoto and Kumokawa Seria exited the surprisingly cleanly alleyway and stepped back into the slowly, if perpetually-fading sunlight.

They found themselves back on the section of walkway where the queer-looking constructs had been left, emerging to the left of the occult market.

"Maybe we should go back in. Perhaps those you're searching for decided to remain inside of the marketplace?"

"Forget it, Hamasaki. There they are now…"

"What is this? The third? She knows too?"

"That's nothing new. Biribiri-chan has been involved with these things for a while, because… well, actually, before we talk about that, you've heard of Kami-yan, no? This is the legend himself, told you he'd be here. Well? Everything you expected?"

The boy with the shoulder-length shaggy hair, clad in the uniform of Sakugawa High School tilted his head and looked to the trio who'd emerged from the alleyway. He raised an eyebrow, but didn't verbally greet them, at least not immediately.

Then, he turned to face Kamijou Touma. Like the living legend 'Kami-yan' himself, Voidwalker had his hands placed into his pockets, though his stance was considerably less casual than Touma's own. He looked vaguely stressed, as if he needed a coffee and a smoke break.

"Kamijou-san. I've heard a lot about you and about your exploits, both magical and scientific."

"What's it to you? I don't even know… you?"

"On edge, are we? There's no need. I've heard about your romantic conquests, and it seems that you live up to your reputation. Taming the third mustn't have been an easy task."

"Watch your mouth," Mikoto snapped. She took a step forward, electricity leaping from her forehead, from the tips of her fingers and from either of her shoulders.

Seeing the Railgun physically move to defend her honor was a sight to behold.

"We're close. Nobody 'tamed' me, you misogynistic prick. It's no wonder everyone in the City has such a bad taste in their mouths when it comes to the level fives, if people like you are the best Academy City has to offer. Between you, Mugino… him… between most of you, it's not even surprising that everyone thinks we're a bunch of maniacs!"

Kamijou Touma seemed to have something else on his mind.

"I remember you."

Kamijou Touma took a step towards the fourth strongest esper in Academy City, who took no steps forward and no steps backwards. He merely analyzed Kamijou Touma, scrutinizing his every movement.

"Do you, Kamijou-san?"

"Yeah, 'member seeing you beating up on the Elements. Good fighting."

"Likewise, Kamijou-san."

"Wait?! Touma! You're making friends with him?! Did you not hear what he just said to me?! This guy's a DICK!"

Kamijou Touma wasn't about to let that go. Misaka Mikoto had been foolish for even thinking of such a thing for a moment's time.

"About that," Touma began, turning back to face the Railgun and offering her a reassuring nod before he faced the Voidwalker once more, "I'm not going to say anything. It's not my place."

"WAITWHAT?!"

Touma shrugged.

"You can defend your own honor Misaka. You're not some little china doll that needs to be protected. You said what had to be said, and you put it all out on the table by yourself. You don't need me to swoop in and play the suave gentleman."

She blew locks of her hair away from her brow. The Railgun grumbled to herself as Seria took to the side of Tsuchimikado Motoharu, who seemed to wince at the very sight of her. Her lips moved as she leaned in, allowing her mouth to hover next to the Backstabbing Blade's ear. Visibly, he shuddered. Like a predator who'd cornered her prey, Seria grinned almost menacingly.

"It's not about that," Mikoto stated. "Of course, I can take care of myself, I don't want you fighting my battles for me, that's not it at all. It just doesn't sit right with me that you'd exchange these… these… bro-words with him after he talked all that smack!"

Touma craned his neck, looking to the Railgun.

"Bro-words?"

Equally, Hamasaki Tsubasa seemed to be just as confused as the Imagine Breaker's former Bearer.

"What on Earth is a bro-word? Kamijou-san? Any idea? You seem to be closer to the third than myself."

Misaka Mikoto bit down on her own tongue, struggling to keep herself from lashing out at the wrong person. Slowly, she made her way forwards, stepping past Touma with her head held high, her shoulders held with confidence, her chest puffed out.

"Listen. You and I, we need to have a little talk. I'd prefer it if you didn't pester me with constant challenges to fight you, okay? I'm not in the mood to fight with you for no good reason. I'm not sure why you're here and I'm not sure how much you know about… well, about magic… speaking of which…"

The Railgun turned to look back at Kamijou Touma, whose hand she took into her own. She attempted, and succeeded at dragging him off; Touma was colored curious. Just where would he end up?

"Be right back! Talking time! One sec! Be back soon! Don't miss us too much! Eheheheh… heh…"

Looking back to Kumokawa Seria and the emasculated, bruised-up Tsuchimikado Motoharu, Voidwalker could only raise an eyebrow.

Indeed, his day was turning out to be a very eventful, if confusing one.

Kamijou Touma was in a similar position, one of eventfulness and confusion, not emasculation. He'd found himself back in the alleyway, the same which he, the human bug-zapper Mikoto and his senpai had stepped out to, from within the occult market.

"He seems reasonable enough for a level five, more reasonable than Accelerator ever was," Touma remarked, once the Railgun had come to a halt. "Have you tried communicating with this guy?"

"Don't make fun of me, you Idi… person who sometimes behaves in a foolish manner," Mikoto practically commanded. "Of course I have… granted I MIGHT have been screaming incoherently at him but… yeah, this one's entirely my fault. I've got temper issues, maybe the Gekota Doctor can give me some pulls, or something. But never mind all that, I want to come with you to London. Whatever insanity you've gotten yourself involved in, I want to be a part of it. I don't want to just be here waiting for you to come back and flash me that grin of yours."

"I'm not going to turn down your company," Touma answered, accented with a nonchalant shrug of his shoulders. "I'd welcome it, and you're not ranked the third strongest esper without reason. Are you sure you're up for it though?"

"Y-yes… yes! Yes, yes, yes."

"This must all be sudden for you. Everything was sort of sprung on you. Do you even know what you're getting yourself into, Misaka?"

"I don't care," Mikoto retorted, stomping her foot aggressively, a current of electricity jumping from her forehead.

"I love you and I want to help you."

Moving like greased lightning, Kamijou Touma quickly snatched the third-ranked level five up, and took her into a warm embrace. Though her cheeks turned a bright shade of pink, she didn't resist. Instead, she drew closer, and nuzzled, as she blinked away what must've been some kind of dirt that'd found its way into her eyes – certainly, there weren't any tears.

"I love you too, Misaka."

"You don't ha… h… have… to face everything everyone throws at you alone, you Id… nonsensical individual!"

"I know that now."

"Good! That's great! I don't care how sudden this is, this is something I've been wanting to do for so long, and finally I have the opportunity and the realism, and you're actually giving me the opportunity… I owe you my _life_ and so much more. I'm not going to let this slip between my fingers, no matter what. So just… let me settle some business first. I can call in some favors here. Give me a minute… b-by the way, you're free to g-go… eheheh. Just wanted, erm, to… uh… to converse… privately."

"I got it. I'll be with Seria," Touma responded, neglecting to mention the other individuals who were also in the company of his senpai.

Mikoto had to wonder just how deep the boy's disdain for Tsuchimikado Motoharu ran. She'd remembered the two being fairly close, even; what'd happened to drive a wedge between them?

"You're… uh… could you let go? I mean, I don't mind being held by you, or anything, it's… uh…"

"Yeah… no problem. Sorry."

"No, no! D-don't be worried, I like it. You're cold, but it's relaxing."

As he relented, placed a kiss to her forehead, and then turned the corner, vanishing from sight, a thought passed through Mikoto's higher mind, one which seemed to make all the sense in the world, in a world which made no sense at all.

Maybe she didn't want to know what'd come between that boy, who was no longer a boy, and that sunglasses-wearing spy. Maybe she was better off not asking questions.

Unlocking her phone, Mikoto scrolled through her contacts, past "Konori" and past "Saten", eventually coming upon the contact she'd been searching for; "Shokuhou".

What sort of reception was she going to receive? Was Shokuhou even alright? Perhaps she should've asked Tokiwadai's 'Queen' if everything was okay. Regardless of the outcome of matters he could've, but hadn't tended to, Mikoto initiated a call with the sixth-ranked level five esper.

Buzz, buzz, buzz. Buzz, buzz, buuuuuzzzzzz. Buzz, buzz, buzz. Buzz, buzz, buuuu—

"Ah, Misaka-san~! Whoever do I owe the pleasure of this call to~?"

Mikoto groaned; but after she groaned she smiled, her lips curling upwards into a thin, but genuine smirk. Shokuhou was fine. Of course she was, she wasn't just anyone. She was Shokuhou Misaki, 'Mental Out'. She was a master of the human psyche, and, above all else, a tough cookie.

"Shokuhou. Erm… how are things?"

"Fine, just fine~. Did you just miss me? Or was there something you needed of me, Misakaaaa-san~? I do hope that you're going to speak truthfully with me!"

"Misaka-san, the Ace? Ooh. What naughty secrets do the two of you share, I wonder~?"

"Hush, now, Mitsuari-chan."

"Don't act like you're not the one who texted me, you tsundere. What, are you going to call me a "baka", too?"

She was going to act like her odd behavior hadn't happened, then. Mikoto lamented the fact that Shokuhou Misaki was so damnably secretive. It was the same behavior which seemed to have ushered her away from her potential visit with Kamijou Touma, the boy who'd forgotten her completely. There'd been a chance that the boy, who wasn't a boy at all could've remembered her, and yet Shokuhou had turned her back on the chance.

Mikoto couldn't even begin to understand the Mental Out user's motivations.

"Misaka-san? I suppose it's my turn to ask, isn't it? Are _you_ alright? Or has our call dropped? Please forgive Mitsuari-chan's rudeness, she knows not what she does."

"Tsundere. Tsundere, tsundere, tsundere, tssuuunnddeeerrreeee. You're a tsundere, Shokuhou-san."

"N-no, I'm good, right here. Sorry… there's something I wanted to ask you. I need a favor."

On the other end of the call, Shokuhou Misaki quietly giggled to herself, like a little girl who'd stumbled into a fairy tale façade built up with castles of marshmallow and walkways of cotton candy.

For someone who was so very damaged, Shokuhou Misaki put on a great poker face. Misaka Mikoto could learn a few things from her 'rival'.

"You need only ask Misaka-san. Of course, my answer will depend on what sort of favor you're calling in… I can't bend over backwards for just anything, I'm sure you understand."

"You're going to lick each other out, aren't you? Shokuhou-san, I didn't think you had it in you! Would you like me to film the proceedings? Ouh, how scandalous~!"

Mikoto nodded to no one in particular; she certainly didn't expect the alleyway wall adjacent to her or the dustbin to nod back, and they didn't do so, much to her relief. In a world where magic was apparently real, where magic cabals threatened civilizations as powerful as that of London, England, anything seemed possible.

"Yeah, I get it. Shokuhou, 'member some time back when I was telling you about how Touma always finds himself getting wrapped up in craziness?"

"Mhm. Do go on, Misaka-san. You've perked my interest."

"Okay so Touma's going to London, because of… reasons, and I'm going along with him. I think after everything we've talked about together that you'd know why."

"Precisely why; that headlong streak is still about him, then. Do take care of my Prince, Misaka-san."

"Why are you so complacent? Shouldn't you be trying to stab me in the back to get closer to him or something, shouldn't you? That's how you work is it not? Correct me if I'm wrong, Shokuhou."

There was a sigh. The poker face had cracked, and a shred of the hideous, deformed truth beneath was shining through to the other side for all to see. In this case, 'all' being Misaka Mikoto, and, on the other end of the line, a living, breathing ghost from Shokuhou Misaki's past.

"Because I have soul-searching to do. What you've brought to light in our conversations has made me reconsider my current way of life and my current goals. Having him in such proximity, within reach of me has made me think about the words someone has recently spoken to me: "I believe that to you, Kamijou Touma is little more than a goal, a point to be proven."

Misaka Mikoto raised an eyebrow at that. Leaning against the alleyway wall behind her, she crossed one leg over the other a she repeatedly bounced the front of her right, buckled flat against the ground beneath her. With her phone pushed up to the side of her face with her left hand, and her right stuffed into the corresponding pocket of her skirt, the Railgun looked up, towards the partially-blue sky.

"Shokuhou, I'm not sure what's going through your mind right now. But whatever it is, you don't have to just think about it all on your own. You can talk to me too. We're… f-friends now, after all. You're not alone, Shokuhou. I promise that you're not alone."

"Oooh! I think I'm going to cry! The two of you are _precious_ ~! Just fuck, already."

"T-t… t-thank you, Misaka-san…"

Shokuhou Misaki cleared her throat and, ignoring Mitsuari Ayu's taunts, she set to work on her poker face, repairing it, and setting it back into place. With her fluffy outward persona fully operational once more, Misaki spoke.

"Well, then~! You did have a favor to ask of me, no? It would seem that we've become sidetracked! Please, do tell me what it is you'd need of me. I find myself just bursting at the seams with unbridled curiosity~!"

"You think you can record the lessons that I'm going to miss? I'm going to have tests piling up when I'm absent from the City, so, being able to study for them would be great. I'm trying to pull my grades up, they're crap right now, but that isn't anywhere near as important as what I'm doing right now."

To the Railgun's surprise, the Mental Out user giggled.

"A simple task, Misaka-san. I can simply use my phone to do so. After that, my debt to you is repaid. Then we'll be even with one another~!"

"Yeah, alright, sure. Deal. T-thanks, Shokuhou. I really mean it. I would've asked Kuroko but…"

"Say no more," Misaki said, physically waving her hand on her end of the call.

"Shirai-san is a kind-hearted and sweet girl, though her obsession with you could be considered unhealthy. You really should speak to her about that if you're going to be pursuing… that boy. Especially with such a scandalous and taboo goal in mind~! Polygamous relationships don't happen every day, Misaka-san, and a relationship with Kamijou-san would certainly be a many-headed beast, if what you say about the changes in personality he's experienced is true."

"And it is," Mikoto spoke, assurance in her tone of voice. "Touma wants more than one girl. I swear, if he would've said something like that to me even a few months ago, I probably would've tried to zap his brains out… but now…"

"Acceptance is a strange thing isn't it, Misaka-san?"

"Yeah. It really is. I guess when you're exposed to strangeness all the time, strangeness becomes normality."

"How philosophical."

"Bye, Shokuhou… thanks again… for having my back. You've been a good… f-friend to me."

"Likewise, Misaka-san. Think nothing of it. Take care of that boy, the boy I've built up as a Prince inside of my own mind. The boy I thought I knew so well but just really don't know at all. Oh! I ought to mention, even if it should go without saying; if even so much as a hair on him is harmed, I'll be holding you accountable~. I do intend to move towards him someday, after all~!"

Misaka Mikoto spoke no more words. She instead terminated the call and, locking her phone, set the device into her skirt's pocket. So long as Shokuhou kept her word, all would be well enough. Though she'd have to play the catch-up game, such was worth it. It was a price worthy of paying to be at Kamijou Touma's side after all he'd done, after all they'd been through together.

Mikoto would pay any price, sacrifice anything in order to achieve the long-sought after goal. She wore it not even simply as a badge of truth but as armor, as she stepped out from the alleyway and back into the ever-waning daylight.

She found the fourth-ranked level five to be absent; a considerable relief. She considered not questioning the development, but decided against it. Inquire Mikoto would.

"Where's Voidwalker? I know I'm going to regret asking…"

Tsuchimikado Motoharu shrugged his shoulders; blood trickled down from either of his nostrils, his right cheek was bruised, and his chin appeared swollen.

As Mikoto's eyes widened at the sight. Kumokawa Seria smiled innocently, humming a soft tune to herself.

"An unanimous decision was made. In order to avoid potential infighting, Voidwalker's going to remain here in Academy City and work with Gladio-Oculus Operative Horton and Karasuma. Speaking of infighting, get ready, you have until this evening, twelve o'clock AM to pack your bags and get your luggage ready. We've got a flight to catch."

The Railgun had another question. 'Sudden' might've been a bit of an understatement, perhaps the understatement of the century, or at least of the week.

"Erm… okay? But what airliner? We're not taking one of those dingy ones that run cheap?"

"Airliner?" Motoharu inquired, flashing the Railgun a vaguely sinister grin. "Who said anything about an airliner? We're travelling privately, courtesy of our friends at Gladio."

"Thank Davey," Touma remarked. "Don't pretend like this is some act of generosity of your own doing, Tsuchimikado."

The Backstabbing Blade, ignoring Kamijou Touma's words, merely clicking his tongue in response, turned to face the trio before him, like he was some sort of cult leader talking down to an expectant flock.

"So, hustle on home and get yourselves ready, gentleman and harem members. Be in district twenty-three by midnight tonight, we'll make the connect there and get this show on the road… by the way, anyone feeling anything off? Someone got invisibility powers around here? Or maybe it's Fukiyose-sensei come to reprimand us, off school hours for our foolishness."


	22. Of Nature and Worlds

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> With this chapter comes the closing of the Spring-heeled Jack Arc. Arguably one of the longest story arcs I've ever penned, clocking in at over two hundred thousand words and nearly twenty-three chapters in length, I believe that at this point, the smoothest transition between the Spring-heeled Jack Arc and the next can be achieved; in effect, one story arc will bleed directly into the next, allowing for a "silky smooth" transition rather than what might otherwise seem to be something of a hard cut in text form.

February 7th, 2004. 8:10 PM.

The home of Tsukuyomi Komoe had been vacated by its owner, who'd gone off to do some sort of "old lady thing" with the Anti Skill lady and the other dark-haired lady, the one with the shorter hair; Musujime Awaki thought of the name "Yoshikawa", but Move Point couldn't quite be certain if that was actually the third woman's name. Her name could've been Adolf von Frankenstein for all Awaki knew.

Regardless of all matters revolving around the concept of potential misidentifications, the Move Point user was having a grand evening, all around. With the motherly Tsukuyomi Komoe away, Musujime Awaki could let loose and do all of the things she enjoyed doing in private.

Surprisingly, masturbation was very low on the list of priorities. There simply wasn't enough appeal; it wasn't as easy as gripping onto a conveniently-placed wad of meat and tugging until orgasm was reached.

No, for a woman, it was more complicated that.

It was such a reason that Awaki partially loathed her own gender. Everything was so very complicated. From urination to defecation, femininity was a complex web of obstacles and pains.

Still, she wasn't about to let the fact that she couldn't stimulate herself with incredible ease get her down.

Running her razor down a section of her right leg, Awaki made a thin layer of… something, something that could've potentially become fuzz if left alone go away.

Without the thin layer of pseudo-anomalous 'growth', the leg beneath was perfect, shiny and silky beneath the bright, synthetic light beamed down from the ceiling of Komoe's home's bathroom.

A part of her wanted that exceedingly handsome boy, that "Kamijou Touma" to run his hands all over them. She wouldn't have minded being able to have him satisfy her womanly needs, either.

Awaki shook her head, allowing the inappropriate fantasy to drip from her higher mind's thoughts like condensation down a porcelain surface.

Set against the simplistic sink and equally simplistic bathroom counter, Awaki's phone was unlocked, with the Qoozle Video application live and running.

Some asinine Nazi conspiracy theory video was being played, with the meek-voiced, stuttering 'narrator' rambling about a 'Fourth Reich in exile" existing in Antarctica, of all places, deep beneath the tundra and frozen wastes. Of course, this Fourth Reich was also supposedly made up of reptilians from a distant star system who were bent on enslaving all of humanity, for reasons that hadn't been, and likely never would be disclosed.

Soon, Awaki's right leg was completely shaven from top to bottom, reflecting the light, smooth as the skin of a pampered infant to the touch. Awaki proceeded to move onto her left leg, listening to the meek narrator of the conspiratorial video continually ramble about lizard-Nazis who'd mastered not only the power of the occult, raising the dead and creating an army of walking Soviet corpses, but also time travel.

Of course, all evidence was anecdotal. What a surprise that was. Musujime Awaki could only shake her head and chuckle under her breath as the narrator blithered and struggled to speak, consistently tripping over his own vocalizations, creating a truly terrible stutter that, even in pre-recorded video form, was quite cringeworthy to audibly behold.

One thing the nonsense did make her think about was the revelations brought up to her by that boy, and that refined young woman, "Kumokawa Seria" as she'd called herself.

It'd all been real after all.

She hadn't believed at first; how was she supposed to have believed something like that? But, it'd been real. Whatever it was that Kamijou Touma had done, he hadn't used some sort of esper ability. The odd taste in the Move Point user's mouth, clinging to her palette like moss to the rudder of a boat, the strange, unfamiliar scents and the shaking of Tsukuyomi Komoe's home wasn't the work of some exotic esper ability.

It'd well and truly been magic, whatever that was. What even _was_ magic?

Awaki still had the pamphlet. Perhaps that would hold the key to unlocking the mystery, even on a very basic level? Such was possible, anything was possible.

Musujime Awaki hardly concerned herself with the consequences.

If one thing had become obvious after she'd been freed from Academy City's yoke, after the first 'wave' of work with GROUP had come to an end, it was that having a 'normal' life was boring as sin. How did the married couples in district eight manage it?

It was dull, it was almost depressing. Every day, the same mindless labor, the same thoughtless grinding, just being part of the ever-turning cogs in an ever-grumbling machine. Even the 'new' work with GROUP was hardly anything exciting, heart-pumping or blood-boiling, it was all mere cut and dry espionage.

The Move Point user frowned. It wasn't a life she wanted for herself.

Musujime Awaki didn't want to be some pretty-looking housewife with crippling debt and brats she resented. She wanted freedom, to roam and to experience the true pleasures of life, to face the risk of being struck head-on by death again after so very long. Death was an inevitability, one which could be courted and danced with or avoided like a dreaded plague, but only for so long. Death, like a good night's sleep would come, no matter how hard one resisted.

She was becoming soft. She could feel herself softening up, like a boiled egg. It was almost sinful; she'd find herself ending up like that half-assed teleporter if she wasn't careful.

Musujime Awaki, after finishing up with swiping the remaining 'layer' of not-quite-fuzz away from her left leg, leaving it just as smooth and as shiny as her right, set her razor down and pressed down on her smartphone's home button, which caused the stuttering, faceless 'narrator' of the conspiratorial video to finally shut up.

Quickly, she applied shaving cream to either of her underarms, which she shaved the fuzzy growth from; the beginnings of hairy outgrowths were slain before they could take root and spread.

Clad in absolutely nothing save the layers of skin that had grown over her skeletal structure, Musujime Awaki left the bathroom, once she'd applied aftershave to her underarms and to either of her legs.

Picking up her unlocked smartphone on the way out, Awaki began moving towards her bed, which was set adjacent to Tsukuyomi Komoe's own. Awaki sifted through the pockets of her dress, which had been haphazardly thrown down upon her bed.

Within, the pamphlet was found, crumpled and savaged. For a moment, and only a moment, the Move Point user thought she saw the eyes of the paper bag man move, only slightly. It must've been a trick of her imagination.

Or, perhaps, it wasn't. Perhaps that was magic, too. Maybe, some dork on the other end of the magical surveillance system which may or may not have existed was creaming himself. At the thought, a sneer was painted over Awaki's facial features.

Opening the first pages of the crumpled thing, Awaki quickly found a table of contents. Almost too conveniently, one of the first items on the table was, "What Is Magic?" apparently located on page four of the pamphlet.

Flipping over to the fourth page, Musujime Awaki stumbled upon what she'd been searching for. It read like something straight out of the bestiary from some high fantasy tabletop game, or like an introduction to someone's fantasy novel.

It sounded like pure fantasy, simplistic, nonsensical bologna. But was that it? Was it that simple? The answer was a resounding "no", and Awaki knew it.

" _Just what is "magic"? What is this power and how can it affect your life?_

" _If you're a student of Academy City, someone who has had the cold, hard element known as "logic" stuffed into their brain, through their ears, nostrils, eyes and every other orifice that we're honestly too decent to mention, you might believe us to be insane, or perhaps the result of some "New Age" movement, similar to those that were alive and well in the mid twentieth century._

" _You couldn't be any more incorrect. You truly couldn't have stumbled onto an assumption more wrong than the previously cited example of a "poor assumption"._

" _Magic isn't all that difficult to explain; in fact, it's quite simplistic in nature. Magic was come upon by those who vilified and envied the espers of old, who could call upon supernatural powers and bend them to their will, not through knowledge of their own; we have the Ahnk'ji Peoples and their Prophet, Taured, to thank for this (for further information regarding the Prophet Taured and the Ahnk'ji's connection to humanity, refer to page sixteen). It was these subterranean, insectoid peoples who blessed humanity with the deep knowledge of scientific esper abilities._

" _Do not mistake the Ahnk'ji Peoples as the enemy, for in truth they are our greatest ally. The only true enemies of humanity are those found within our species, within our kind, those in power who would oppress through their rule, rather than aid and protect._

" _Magic was forged when those who did not or could not connect with the Ahnk'ji Peoples wished for power of their own, and so they turned to the primordial power in the Earth itself. They called for their gods, for the gods of old and for the gods of other civilizations to come to their aid. They employed rituals found in other cultures, cultivated in other lands… and their prayers were answered in kind._

" _It can take any form and can be invoked through a wide array of means, most commonly a caster works the casting of a spell through aligning oneself with a certain elemental force or with the character or setting of a particular story, Biblical or otherwise, invoking the latent power in the concept itself and taking that power for themselves._

" _IMPORTANT: IF YOU ARE AN ESPER PRODUCED BY ACADEMY CITY'S POWER CURRICULUM, ATTEMPTING TO UTILIZE MAGIC WITHOUT FIRST PERFORMING A CERTAIN RITUAL (BASED NOT IN MAGIC BUT IN NEUTRAL SPIRITUALISM) WILL RESULT IN GRIEVOUS BODILY HARM! REFER TO PAGE TEN AND PAGE SIX TO LEARN HOW TO PERFORM THIS RITUAL BEFORE ATTEMPTING TO UTILIZE MAGIC!"_

Awaki soon found herself performing precisely that action. Skimming through the pages before her, Awaki came upon page ten, where another series of text-walls were present.

Following the instructions found within, Awaki managed to scavenge a spare piece of paper and a black, felt tip marker, both of which were scattered around different corners of Tsukuyomi Komoe's home. The Move Point user quickly, but rather nervously produced the required construct, following the instructions and leaving a small section of the "Magic Circle" incomplete.

She felt like an imbecile, like a small child performing the classic "Bloody Mary" ritual for the first time in an elementary school's bathroom.

By the time she'd partially completed the Magic Circle, studied the various written materials found within the pamphlet, and eventually made her way to the mirror in Komoe's bathroom, it was nearly nine o'clock in the evening.

Just how long had she taken to prepare everything? Had she purposefully been stalling? Awaki didn't even know. Maybe it was subconscious, maybe it'd been a conscious, nervous desire. The Move Point user had hardly been paying attention.

Stranding before the small, simplistic plastic mirror which hung from the bathroom's wall, Musujime Awaki closed either of her eyes, folded her hands in front of her face and took a long, deep breath. Then, she opened her eyes, feeling that both had been sufficiently moisturized.

Repeatedly, the Move Point user resisted the urge to blink, making that urge even more powerful. As she fought it, it fought back, struggling against the chains her higher mind had bound the instinctual desire with.

" _If it's really, honestly true that there's some sort of evil science-magic-code inside of me, I'd prefer for it to be gone, thanks… oh, what the HELL am I doing?! I'm thinking, just talking to myself. Then again… it did say to sincerely 'pray', to be forceful… praying. Who would've thought? This is Academy City, nobody 'prays' here. Sheesh, this is all still weirding me out…_

" _Alright. Please make the evil science-magic-code thing inside of me go away. I want it gone. By the power of spiritualism… or something… make it go away! I want it gone and I want it gone now! I demand that it goes away!"_

In a certain Windowless Building, all was silent, as always.

But there was something different. _It_ was spreading. Aleister Crowley, the General Superintendent of Academy City just couldn't help but smirk as he watched another great, swollen mass of golden light surge outwards from another home in _his_ City.

He should've been upset that the magical curses he'd long ago set into place were being destroyed, not quite en masse but frequently; yet he wasn't upset. Aleister Crowley was overjoyed, in fact.

The 'Other Side' would have plenty of work on their hands, too much work to pry into his personal affairs.

All that remained was retrieving the Imagine Breaker from that Tritonian Mad-God monstrosity, a tyrant whose cruelty and callousness put even that of Magic God Othinus to shame. That wouldn't be easy by any stretch of the imagination, but, all things were possible. He was Aleister Crowley, the Great Beast 666, the most powerful magician on planet Earth. He was no pushover and he was no coward.

But he was cunning.

He observed as Musujime Awaki smashed the mirror.

Though she hadn't controlled it – she'd lost control over her body for some moments – Musujime Awaki had found herself slumped down on the floor.

But she felt no pain and she felt no fear, or grief or anger. All she felt was overwhelming relief, like some great weight had been mercifully removed from her shoulders. Her lips had curled upwards, into a smile, a thin, thankful smirk.

She was alive, and something had most certainly changed in her. She'd seen the blackened smoke, as dark as the night sky above her drift away, like vapors released by some sort of pseudo-volcanic deep sea outcroppings. It'd emerged from her nose, her eyes, her nostrils, and even from other, more private parts of her body.

Musujime Awaki rose to her feet, her legs shaking as she almost feverishly stumbled towards the semi-completed "Magic Circle".

More than once, on her way, she nearly stumbled over own feet; but she managed to retain her sense of balance, forcing her body to co-operate with her excited, nervous and vaguely disturbed higher mind's frantic demands.

With unsteady hands, she completed the Circle, setting the felt tip marker down upon the coffee table nearby. The writing utensil rolled away, falling from the table and to the carpeted flooring below it.

Hunting for page eight within the pamphlet, Musujime Awaki frantically flipped from page to page, until she came upon the section she'd been searching for.

While there didn't seem to be a lot of 'spells' on offer, Musujime Awaki settled on something simplistic. "Flames of the Burning Bush". That seemed destructive enough, if somewhat on the archaic side. It would do for Awaki's purposes.

Quickly, she retrieved from a heap next to her bed some clothing; Awaki threw on a simple, sleeveless top, a pair of 'short' shorts, and slipped her bare feet into her buckled flats, which she retrieved from the small mat just before the entranceway door.

With a thought, a simple series of calculations, Musujime Awaki teleported herself to a nearby field, one which was rarely, if ever populated, the pamphlet in hand.

In the mere blink of an eye Musujime Awaki had translocated entirely, finding herself in a new location.

As she'd suspected, the field nearby Tsukuyomi Komoe's place of residence was complete vacated; only the grass beneath her feet, flanked by great, majestic trees whose tips reached to the clear, if darkened night sky above surrounded and welcomed her with proverbial open arms, and with many perpetually-spinning wind turbines visible in the distance, the night was an almost idyllic one; that was counting the fact that she'd managed to stumble into something that was completely foreign and unfamiliar to her, something she never knew to exist.

Following the instructions detailed in the pamphlet, Musujime Awaki carved out a magic circle in the grass, by yanking tufts of the healthy, green stuff from the ground, and digging into the exposed dirt with a small, but considerably thick and durable stick she'd scavenged.

Images of burning firewood were carved, images of simplistic campfires and of lone, crackling flames, each in a circular pattern, with a small, full circle surrounding them, and another beyond that circle, entrapping each of the crude, carved-out icons. In the center of the Magic Circle, a simplistic bush was carved, with crackling flames carved out atop it. Above the fire, the shape of a cross, a lowercase t was carved as well.

Referencing the pamphlet-turned-manual once more, Awaki not only knelt, but crouched, allowing her legs to be tickled by the tips of individual grass-blades. She read and re-read the necessary materials, soon discovering that, upon activation, the "Flames of the Burning Bush" could be freely controlled with vocalized commands, such as "forward", "relent", and "to the side".

Additionally, if 'sinners', those who opposed the caster were present, the "Flames of the Burning Bush" would apparently seek them out of their own accord.

How useful. Musujime Awaki found herself grinning as she enthusiastically leapt up, her auburn twintails bouncing as she did so.

"Let the flames of the righteous Lord, thy God, char away the sins of the sinful."

At that point, it was hardly surprising to the Move Point user that, in the palms of her hands, flames began to crackle. Illuminating the night's blanket of darkness around her, her smile widened as she thrust either of her hands outwards, her fingers outstretched.

She found herself getting into "magic", whatever "magic" truly was.

"Forwards."

Awaki commanded, and the Flames of the Burning Bush answered, as the Magic Circle she'd crafted began to glow a deep, dull orange, which periodically changed in coloration, flashing between dark shades and bright shades.

From the palms of her hands, two plumes of flame had emerged, searing and scorching the oxygenized air.

"Relent."

Once more, Awaki commanded and the Flames answered her call. As if they were two attack-hounds having their leashed yanked by the hands of an overbearing master, both plumes were 'sucked' back into the palms of Awaki's hands, where each came to rest.

Musujime Awaki found herself giggling, like a little schoolgirl. They answered her call! They seemed to do anything and everything she asked of them.

She'd "refined mana", using her own "soul", the connection between her "life force" and her higher mind's memories, a spiritual, yet oddly mechanical-sounding thing.

"Flames of the Burning Brush... around… me?"

While the command had been filled to the brim with uncertainty, the Flames responded without issue and without delay.

As they'd been asked, both plumes surged outwards, initially, before they began to swirl around Awaki's form like two great, burning ribbons, twisting, crackling and roaring, the sounds reverberating throughout the potential level five candidate's eardrums.

While Musujime Awaki wanted to continue fiddling with her newfound power, or potentially try out other 'basic spells' listed within the pamphlet-turned-manual, there was someone she needed to contact, someone who knew much more about "magic" than she did. Her "coworkers" were obviously out of the question.

He seemed to know plenty, and perhaps he could teach her? Maybe he'd be willing to show her the ropes. If "magic" was something that truly existed, and that it did – the fact that she'd seemingly utilized it was undeniable proof that "magic", whatever it might've been, was a real force in the world – Awaki didn't merely 'want' to learn more about it.

She _needed_ to learn more about it. Perhaps he and Kumokawa Seria, as she'd called herself, could both teach her more?

It'd been frightening, at first, the prospect of something completely unknown that'd long been lurking just beneath her nose, just out of sight; but with knowledge and understanding of "magic" came a sense of excitement, a sense of desire to learn even more than the basics outlined in the "Sons of Taured' propaganda pamphlet.

Awaki felt more empowered than she had in a very long time. She felt like she was truly in control, and positivity seemed to soar throughout her form like a majestic bird on great, golden wings, like those of an angel traversing a proverbial sky.

Why that image in particular had been conjured by her higher mind, she didn't know. Awaki settled for not knowing.

Quickly, Musujime Awaki stomped out the Magic Circle she'd carved out in the dirt with either of her feet, stomping on it and grinding it out of existence. Then, she quickly began the silent, mental process of teleporting herself, and the pamphlet back to Tsukuyomi Komoe's place of residence, with a simple series of calculations, those she'd engaged countless times.

She had a date with her smartphone – more specifically, she had a date with smartphone's EpiCenter app.

* * *

February 7th, 2014. 9:08 PM.

"Toooouuuummmaaaaaaaaaaaaa."

"What, Index…? What did I do now that invoked your wrath?"

"I was kidding! That's all!"

"Oh. Heh… Eheheh. Expected you to bite me or something, there… eheheh."

"Your laugh is so cute, Touma!"

Kamijou Touma found himself in a strangely familiar, yet distant, unfamiliar and queer situation indeed. While it was hardly 'strange' for the Imagine Breaker's former Bearer to find himself in the company of the opposite gender, there was a balance and a peacefulness about that'd never before been part of his life.

It was good. No, it was great – amazing, even. There was nothing that Touma wanted more.

Though he laid in his bed, with Index, the little silver-haired nun at his side, cuddled up to him with either of cheeks as red as the outer shell of a beet, there was nothing even remotely sexual occurring there, between the two.

His left arm was wrapped around the nun's form, comfortingly holding her close. Her little heart was slowly, but rhythmically beating against his own cold, nanorobotic form.

Nearby, the former Magic God Othinus and Touma's senpai politicked. Her identity had been partially disclosed to the newcomer in the Kamijou Residence, Kumokawa Seria, who'd accepted the explanation as best she could; of course, some matters were better off unspoken, left to lay like sleeping dogs. Those were matters that Seria didn't know about, and, if all went per the plan, she never would.

Regardless of her history of conflict with Kamijou Touma, Othinus and Seria seemed to be getting along well enough.

It also likely helped that most of the violent acts that'd occurred around the world due to GREMLIN's actions were pinned on the former group's other members.

The two had spoken long through the evening and into the night about magic, about history, about philosophy, and, most recently, about the nature of art's connection with magic, and, by extension, Idol Theory, which Othinus had previously explained in better detail to the young woman, whose brain felt like it might've exploded at any second, so bogged-down was it with deep lore and information.

Both took a sip from their glasses of ice water at the same time; then, both former Magic God and intellectual genius looked to one another for a moment, before they broke down laughing.

Kamijou Touma's lips curled further upwards. Seeing the two get along so well brought joy to his nonexistent, proverbial heart.

"Tou-ma?"

"Oi, Index."

"It's good that you bring home nice girls for a chance. Seria reminds me of Kaori, she's nice too. I haven't seen Kaori in a long time! I miss her!"

Before Index could continue rambling, and, by extension, continue to cause Kumokawa Seria to giggle at the little nun's antics, there was a deep, bellowing grumble, originating from the nun's lower body.

"Touma. I'm hungry."

Kamijou Touma tossed his head back like a madman, laughing aloud before he took the silver-haired nun into his arms and held her tightly, taking her by surprise. The nun's cheeks lit up, glowing a light shade of pink. Regardless of the fact that she was flustered, the nun returned her old friend's embrace. As he affectionately kissed either of her cheeks, and her forehead, Index's blush grew brighter.

It was nice. Being kissed by Touma, at least on the face was a nice sensation. It felt good to be so appreciated. It felt good that he was being open and honest, even better that he was speaking with his actions as opposed to his words. Sometimes, words weren't needed.

"Figures… look, c'mon, let's fix you something to eat."

Both parties quickly rose, with Index breaking into a mad dash for the kitchen area. Kamijou Touma was soon to follow, however, he was brought to a halt on his way by the hand of Kumokawa Seria, who'd taken his into her own.

"Oi, Seria," he greeted with a nod.

"Come down here a moment."

"Al… right?"

Touma crouched before his senpai, who then proceeded to press an affectionate kiss to his cheek.

"Regardless of the direction our day together took, I was very pleased, and I still am, by the fact that I was able to spend precious time with you, my little kohai."

"Yeah. For sure, Senp… I mean, Seria. It was really nice spending time with you too, it was… it was like the olden days, y'know? I missed that, I really, really missed that, spending that kind of time with you, even if it turned out going in a direction we didn't anticipate. Even if there were some… heh… upgrades to the sort of time we used to spend. Look, thanks… for your support too. You don't have to do this, if you want to drop out, it's totally understandable."

Seria turned to Othinus, who tilted her head to one side. With her long, majestic golden hair tied up into a messy bun, she looked like something out of a beauty product commercial.

"Nonsense. I want to be at your side, Touma-kun. I tire of watching from the sidelines, hoping for the best, and, Othinus-san, you're a wonderful conversational partner. I think I've learned more from speaking with you these few hours than I've ever learned during my lifetime in Academy City."

"She has that effect on people," Touma remarked, chuckling under his emulated breath.

"Touma!" Index exclaimed, popping her head out from within the dorm's kitchen area. "I'm hungry. Can you please come and fix me something to eat? Quickly?! If I don't eat soon I might keel over!"

Seria giggled, as she turned to look at the silver-haired nun, and then back to Touma, who'd taken to standing once more. Releasing his hand, Touma's senpai took another sip from her glass of water.

"Your nun-friend is too adorable, Touma-kun."

"That she is," Touma spoke, acknowledging the truth of the matter.

Once more, Index's little cheeks lit up, glowing pink as she retreated into the dorm's kitchen area.

Once Touma had made his way to that section of his dorm, with Othinus and Seria resuming their previous conversation, Index's pet cat arched its back, hissing loudly at Kamijou Touma, who could only crouch before the creature, who began to back away.

"Sphinx!" Index scolded, gently and harmlessly slapping the creature on the back. "You need to treat Touma with more respect than that! He's part of the reason you're here, you know! Show some gratitude, mister!"

"Index, it's okay. Don't scold Sphinx. I think I understand what's wrong with your cat."

"H…uh?"

Touma extended his arm, his nanorobotic machine-phase matter surging, ribbons of the resin leaping like salmon from a riverbend.

Predictably, Sphinx hardly reacted well. The animal hissed loudly, backing further away as its claws extended outwards from within its paws.

"Sphinx is scared of me, he knows something is wrong with me, that I'm different from you and Othi-chan, and Seria. Animals' senses are far more acute than those people have, Index."

Index lifted the cat up to her bosom, and repeatedly stroked the little creature's back, calming it down some. Sphinx looked away from Kamijou Touma, its dark pupils nearly taking up the entirety of either of its eyes.

As Touma made a move to approach, Sphinx hissed loudly, and began to hit Index with its paw. Responding, she set the feline down, and like a bat straight out of Hell Sphinx fled, ripping out of the kitchen are, resembling a tiny calico blur more than a cat.

To this Touma merely shrugged and opened the refrigerator, while Index seemed concerned, for a moment, before she seemingly recovered from the momentary lapse in her good mood.

"So, Index. What are you interested in? Feeling something hot? We've got… lots of hot stuff. Looks like… huh, yeah, that canned spaghetti right there. Feeling that, with a sub?"

"Yep!" Index nodded repeatedly, either of her cheeks glowing as her woes were fully forgotten, proverbially falling from her shoulders and to the waysides. "Assorted, with lettuce tomatoes and LOTS of mustard! Please Touma?! PLEAAASE?"

Producing an assortment of, but not all of the required materials, Kamijou Touma closed the refrigerator door and turned to Index, who he took into his arms. She produced a soft squeak as her face suddenly lit up, glowing bright pink.

The way he held her was full of affection, undying adoration and complete love, bordering on obsession. Index felt such things, though she wasn't certain if she was correct on the last part; she could only assume.

His grip tightened, as he rested his chin against Index's shoulder, emulating the sound of a human being's sigh.

Soon, the little, silver-haired nun's arms found themselves wrapping around her 'keeper's' back, and she pressed a soft, affectionate kiss to his cheek. Her face was changing coloration, from pink to red, as she felt the beginnings of an unknown and unfamiliar desire creeping up from within her, tapping at the metaphorical glass of her higher mind.

"I love you Index. I love you so much. There's nothing I wouldn't do for you."

"T-Touma? I l-love you t-too."

"I love you so _fucking much_. Do you know what I'd do for you, Index?"

"Nuh… uh."

"Do you have any concept of what I'd do for you? I think you do, we've… we've been through a lot together haven't we? I would kill for you, Index. I would kill anyone for you. I would destroy entire nations for you. All you'd have to do is ask. I'd rip the entire Roman Orthodox Church apart at the seams if I had to."

"But I wouldn't do that Touma! I wouldn't want you to d-do that… d-don't talk like that. That's scary."

"Sorry. I'm just saying what I feel, if 'feel' is the right word."

Rather than relenting, Touma's grip tightened further; it wasn't enough to cause the little silver-haired nun and sort of discomfort. If anything, despite Touma's words, Index hadn't felt safer. Her own embrace tightened, and she soon came to lean the side of her face against her 'keeper's chest as he rose.

"Whatever happens after we're dragged off to London to fight someone else's battles for them, because they're either too incompetent or too cowardly, or maybe just too lazy to fight them for themselves, I want you to know that I… Index, I want you as my equal. I want you right there at my side. I want you to protect me while I protect you, balance, equality, y'know? Having each other's backs."

"I can do that Touma."

Index produced a sigh. Her heart was beating far too quickly, at an almost absurdly quick rate. Her legs felt weak, her innards seemed as if they were about to twist onto themselves and subsequently implode. The little nun's stomach, though stil producing the occasional growl, still full of hunger, felt as if it'd turned upside down.

"Touma?"

"Yeah, Index?"

"Maybe..."

"What? There's no need to hesitate, just be honest."

"I… uh… T-Touma?"

"Index?"

She decided to make the move then and there. Bracing herself, grasping at her confidence like a farmer grasping onto a crop they intended to pull from the ground, Index moved in for the kill. Even as she felt the beginnings of tears forming in the corners of her eyes, Index didn't relent. She didn't relent and she didn't try to stop herself.

They connected.

One set of lips made contact with another. Index's own were pressed against Touma's, the coppery taste slipping past the little silver-haired nun's lips and into her mouth, down her throat and throughout her body. She shivered, as tears slipped down her cheeks.

Their lips quietly smacked together for a moment before Index parted, forcibly pulling herself away from Touma's grip.

"Ha… ha! I d-did it!"

"You certainly did."

Touma took a few steps back, offering the little nun some breathing room, which she quickly came to appreciate; the gesture was a kind one.

"I've wanted to do that for a long time Touma. It felt good. Did it feel good for you too? I hope it did!"

"It did, Index. It felt great. Besides, as long as it felt good for you, that's all that matters."

"That's not true," Index scolded, wagging her finger like a stern teacher. "Your feelings matter too… but now I'm really hungry. Please make me food!"

Touma closed the distance between himself and Index, then pecked the nun's forehead.

"Go settle yourself in, I'll make you something up quickly, here. We've got a few hours before we're set to leave anyways. Seria will be able to drive us there, so we don't have to mess with buses."

As Index tore out of the kitchen area, her arms happily flailing from one side to the other, Touma heard Othinus sarcastically congratulate the nun on her "courage", while Seria sounded as if she was struggling to hold back laughter.

Apparently, she wasn't offended by the 'violation' of the terms she'd set out. Perhaps, looking at Index, Seria came to the conclusion that her interactions with her kohai were innocent? That they were, they were nothing short of completely innocent. Touma could hardly fathom the idea of interacting sexually with the little nun. He shuddered at the thought, his nanorobotic form vibrating.

As he began to pour the contents of the canned spaghetti into a bowl, which he'd retrieved from one of many cupboards within the dorm's kitchen area, there was a loud "PIIIING!" produced by his laptop.

The sound was one which Touma had come to associate with EpiCenter's "push notifications", which sent notifications straight to the computer's desktop, essentially skipping the proverbial middleman. So long as the machine was connected to a network, notifications would arrive.

After he inserted the bowl, filled to the brim with cold, heavily-processed but, by his own admission (or by the admission of the person he'd once been), delicious stuff into the kitchen area's oven, Touma moved to flip open his laptop, in order to check just what sort of notification he'd received.

Apparently, he'd received a friend request. While not entirely out of the ordinary, it wasn't a frequent occurrence.

The friend request came from a familiar-looking individual; the account's name was simply "Awaki ". Her profile picture was simplistic; it depicted the Move Point user, clad in her Kirigaoka Girls' Academy uniform, posing, with two of her fingers held up in a V-shape, with a small amount of her trademark cleavage visible. Though she looked unenthusiastic, a small grin seemed to be tugging at her lips.

Touma could almost hear the teasing words of Aogami Pierce reverberating throughout his converted higher mind.

" _KAMI-YAAAAAAN! STOP STEALING ALL THE GIRLS FROM US! IT'S NOT FAAAAAAAAAIIIIIIIIRRRRRRRR!"_

Without hesitation, Kamijou Touma idly accepted the request, and then navigated to the EpiCenter website. He wasn't about to simply accept the request and then not send at least some sort of introductory private message.

Navigating to Musujime Awaki's EpiCenter profile, Touma found it devoid of content; the only individuals who seemed to regularly post content of any kind on her profile's NewsWall were Accelerator, someone going under the handle of "E", who Touma recognized, a person of dark-skinned descent, with black hair, dark like the color of charcoal.

Oddly enough, Musujime Awaki also seemed to have her EpiCenter profile visited fairly often by Shirai Kuroko, who regularly shared strange, fringe content with her, most of which Awaki responded to with simplistic comments such as "LOL" or "ur crazy. This is tight though. Ur alright."

Touma was quickly beaten to the punch; Musujime Awaki had sent him a private message. The chat box lunged forward like a mysterious stranger in the night.

"glad i found u lol, accidentily added the wrong person at first… some old dude… kamijou touya? He was nice at least lol. lets talk about that stuff u showed me k? its supposed 2 be hush hush so im not talking bout it here. whens it best for u to meet up?"

Before Kamijou Touma set his fingers down upon his laptop's keyboard, he took a step back, and pondered his next potential move.

Was he going too far in his quest to be honest? Musujime Awaki was hardly someone who was frequently involved with him, after all. Maybe telling her a wee, little white lie wouldn't hurt. That's precisely what a 'white lie' was; something that was spat out, something untruthful, which wouldn't cause the recipient any sort of harm, lasting or otherwise.

Then again, there was a matter which Kamijou Touma had to consider.

He didn't have to decide on his own; he could fall back on those who cared for him. Kamijou Touma could ask them for their opinions on the matter.

He quickly proceeded to slap a submarine sandwich together for Index, and idled as the processed spaghetti, formerly canned was heated by the dorm's oven, within its bowl. Once the waiting task was complete, he set the exceedingly hot bowl onto the nearby counter, his converted higher mind forbidding the pain associated with the bowl's heat from troubling his nanorobotic form.

Stepping away from the laptop and out from the dorm's kitchen area, Touma made his way into the living quarters, carrying with him the submarine sandwich he'd lovingly, if hastily prepared for the little, silver-haired nun.

While Othinus had apparently moved herself to the bed, the sheets thrown over her form, exposing only the top of her full head of golden hair, Index had taken the former Magic God's place, excitedly talking with Kumokawa Seria about the newest episode of Magical Powered Kanamin; politely, and with the patience of a Saint, Kumokawa Seria listened on, occasionally stopping to ask the nun a question.

Kamijou Touma couldn't help but smile; Seria seemed, or at least was great at acting like she seemed genuinely curious about Index's favorite anime.

Joining them at the table, Kamijou Touma set himself down and politely crossed either of his legs.

"Hi, Touma!" Index exclaimed happily. Despite her loudness, the apparently napping Othinus didn't even stir. "Yay! Food! Give it here please! HUNGRY!"

Seria moved slightly closer, and, beneath the table, took her kohai's hand into her own. She squeezed down tightly, and smiled at him, her teeth as white as a blanket of winter's snow.

"Hello, Touma-kun. It's good that you've decided to join us."

Touma handed the submarine sandwich off to the 'starved' nun, who immediately began to happily devour the source of nutrition, her cheeks glowing a bright shade of pink as she did so.

"Be right back. Managed to forget something, someone's got to feed the little orphan."

Tracking back to the kitchen area, Touma retrieved the bowl of spaghetti, and then retraced his steps. He set the steaming hot bowl before the nun, who practically shrieked in pleasure.

"YAY! Thank you, Touma! Thank you thank you thank you! YAAAY!"

Seria shrugged either of her shoulders, and offered her kohai another warm smile. With Index distracted by the television, and by her newly-obtained sources of sustenance, Kumokawa Seria swiftly snuck a kiss from her beloved kohai.

"Your little friend is simply adorable. I can't say it enough. She's so alive, it's not quite like anything I've before laid my eyes on... is she involved with the 'Other Side'?"

"She's the one who introduced me," Touma remarked. "She… this is going to sound pretty crazy, so hea…"

"Try me, my little kohai. I welcome you to try me."

"I found her hanging over the railing on my balcony one morning, just after I'd had an… eventful… encounter with Misaka, the little zapper-girl. It all started from there."

Though Kumokawa Seria had raised an eyebrow, she didn't think nor vocalize any sort of doubt. When it came down to the nitty-gritty of it, Seria had heard and seen stranger things than that.

Still, it wasn't every day that nuns fell out of the sky, even in a place of supernatural power such as Academy City.

"I'd ask more about your friend's story, but I ought to ask her for the tale. Abridged or otherwise, I believe she'd appreciate the act of honesty."

"She probably would," Touma retorted, agreeing. He nodded his head as he chuckled; as if it was a contagious, airborne viral infection, Kumokawa Seria soon found herself giggling along with her kohai's deep chuckles.

Then, he seemed to become serious. With Index stuffing what remained of her submarine sandwich into her mouth, Touma looked to Seria, who once more took her kohai's hand into her own.

"Look, Seria. Can I talk to you about something?"

"Of course, my little kohai. Fire away."

Touma turned his gaze towards the kitchen area, and then looked back to Kumokawa Seria, who tilted her head curiously to one side.

"Musujime… uh, she messaged me on EpiCenter."

"Ah, did she, now? What did I tell you? It's evident that you haven't scared her off. If anything, it would seem that she might be growing fond of you. From what I can tell that Musujime-san is rather level-headed, so it doesn't come as a particularly great surprise."

"That's true," Touma acknowledged, "apparently, she wants to learn more about magic. From me. I don't know everything about it, but I could teach her. But should I? Should we? She's never really be involved with me, so, it wouldn't kill anyone to lie, but… I don't want to go back to doing that. I don't even know if she'd be game to come along with us, but, should I put the offer out there?"

"Touma-kun. You're concerned about being untruthful?"

"Yeah. Pushing people away, if I let myself push one person away, I could push more people away. I'd really rather not do that. What's your opinion?"

Kamijou Touma turned to Index, who finally managed to notice him out of the corner of her eye.

"Tou-ma."

"In-dex. What do you think about another person being on board? 'nother science person. She already knows about magic, but…"

Index pouted for a moment, before she stuck her nose up in an almost haughty manner.

"Your friends make jokes about how many girl friends you have, but now it's starting to become true, isn't it Touma? Is it a girl? Are you going to kiss them too? You should do what you do with One-Eye and kiss other people in the laundry room Touma. It's politer, nobody wants to see that stuff!"

"You make me sound like I'm some sort of man-whore," Touma chuckled. Seria failed to restrain her own giggle.

Index locked eyes with Touma for a moment; he felt as if he was being observed, watched, his every move meticulously catalogued within the little silver-haired nun's higher mind.

"It's a girl isn't it Touma? Tell me the truuuuuuuuuuuuuth…"

"Yes, Index. She's a girl."

"Heheheheh! I knew it! Dirty Touma. I guess it's time we all start being truthful about "The Harem of Kami-yan".

Seria threw her head back and laughed at the use of the term she and the little nun had coined together, while Touma had been explaining his desires to achieve the queer and rather taboo goal of a polygamous existence; the way Index spoke those words tickled Seria's proverbial funnybone.

Touma had been surprised that Index hadn't tried to murder him or otherwise rend his flesh with her teeth as soon as he'd brought it up.

She hadn't been blind. The little nun, too, had witnessed how much female attention her 'keeper' always received.

The way in which Kumokawa Seria had laid it out in the most casual of terms made the entire issue seem like it made all the sense in the world.

It made so much sense that Index couldn't help but agree; after all, not only was the chance to make more friends right there, if that's what made Touma happy, then, allowing nice girls like Kaori and Seria into her life, by association, wouldn't be all that bad, especially if they were wealthy and could offer her food.

"You know that's immoral, right Touma? Having more than one partner goes against official Church doctrine! But you're not going to listen to that, are you? You're so bullheaded sometimes, Tou-ma. Is she nice like Seria and Kaori?"

"Maybe it does, Index. Maybe it does. Who cares? They don't rule me. If everything's consensual, they have no business telling people what they can and can't do. Nobody tells me what to do, no government, no Church, nobody. Anyway… she's… rough… around the edges. Not mean-spirited though."

"Hm."

Ignoring Kamijou Touma's miniature rant, Index rubbed her chin between her fingers, momentarily, before she seemed to have 'hatched' an idea. Sitting upright, the little nun clasped her hands and placed them into her lap.

"Tou-ma. You have my approval, as long as she's nice and as long as she gives me food sometimes. If this girl knows about magic, then there's nothing wrong with inviting her."

"You're not jealous, are you? Talk to me. I know it's all a lot to spring on you at once, but it's how I feel. Even with a few hours to sit and contemplate everything I bet it still all hasn't settled."

"No Touma, I'm not."

"You're… not?"

"No Touma. Nice girls like Himegami, Kaori and Seria, loudmouthed girls like the short-hair and Fukiyose, and even outright mean-spirited girls such as One-Eye all like you."

Touma shook his head from one side to the other, as Kumokawa Seria listened on, a small smile tugging at the side of either of her lips.

"If she wakes up, you're going to regret saying that."

The little silver-haired nun merely folded her arms across her chest in response, as if she was silently rebelling against the potential reprisal of the napping former Magic God.

"The only difference is that you're acknowledging it and acting on the reality surrounding you! It's actually really impressive, you're taking initiative Touma! Finally! Now you can start picking up more food for me more often."

"It always comes back to food with you, doesn't it? Never change, Index. I love you just the way you are."

"Or some of the other nice girls can do it. I bet Himegami would."

Kamijou Touma then turned to Kumokawa Seria, who offered her kohai a warm smile. Moving towards him, crawling in an almost seductive manner, Seria came to a halt, and then sat herself down next to Touma.

"Seria?"

"All I ask is that you continue to respect the terms we've agreed upon. You've been doing a wonderfully adamant job of that thus far."

"How could I refuse something so reasonable? I can't. Seria, y'know, I appreciate that open-mindedness and the willingness to compromise. I appreciate it a lot."

Seria shrugged, nonchalantly.

"If co-operating with the likes of the personable "Othi-chan", this adorable little bundle of knowledge," Seria motioned towards the slumbering Othinus, and then to Index, who looked away, cheeks glowing a bright shade of pink, "is the sort of 'tribulation' that I must face, then I think being involved with what some might refer to as a "harem" will be much more than a mere compromise."

Even as recently as four or five months prior to the moment in which she'd come to find herself, Seria knew that she never would've even thought of saying such a thing.

'That Seria' never would've thought of it, and she certainly wouldn't have said it, out loud, for more than one individual to hear. She would've spun web after web to trap her prey, she would've lied through her teeth and she would've played those around her like so many pieces on a game board.

But as the Kamijou Touma of the past was dead and gone, so was the Kumokawa Seria of the past. That Kumokawa Seria had been seared away, cauterized by unfathomable grief, followed by a sense of renewed thankfulness, a willingness to change through gratitude.

As Kamijou Touma rose, beginning to make his way towards the dorm's kitchen area, Seria looked to Index.

She'd heard his words, those Kamijou Touma had spoken to the little silver-haired nun.

" _I would kill for you, Index."_

" _I would kill anyone for you."_

" _I would destroy entire nations for you. All you'd have to do is ask."_

" _I'd rip the entire Roman Orthodox Church apart at the seams if I had to."_

Kumokawa Seria couldn't supress the smile that forced its way onto her face, one which the simply precious little nun returned.

"Index-san, might I ask a question?"

"Mhm!"

"Do you know what happened to Touma-kun? Are you aware of the circumstances behind his recent changes in behavior and personality?"

Index nodded, affirmatively. Her facial expression became almost stoic.

"Some evil people experimented on him and did… a-awful things to him! Touma was just trying to help someone, like he always does! I want to get them back, but I can't use magic without doing some things. I know Touma can probably do it himself… but…"

Seria scooted herself towards she who'd memorized over one hundred thousand cursed, darkened books, "the Grimoires". Seria looked to 'the Index Librorum Prohibitorum', stern-faced. She took a deep breath, as she gently took the precious little nun's hands into her own.

Her eyelids narrowed, and Index gulped.

"Index-san, you don't need to concern yourself with that… you leave the matter of revenge to me, okay? For what they've done to my sweet little kohai, I'm going to make them suffer. Horribly. For what they've done, they will regret the day they were each conceived."

"T-that's s-scary…"

"I know. Isn't it just? Now, let's talk about something nicer. Tell me more about "Magical Powered Kanamin", why don't you?"

Instantaneously, the little nun's eyes widened, glowing with renewed enthusiasm.


	23. Blood, Sweat, and Tears

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In the previous chapter, I announced the closing of the Spring-heeled Jack Arc, which, indeed, has ended with the penning of this chapter.
> 
> Given that one story arc has begun bleeding into another, as was my not-quite-endgame goal, I proudly announce to you, my dear and wonderful readers that chapter twenty-three of a Certain Broken Testament is the first chapter of the Revelations Arc!

? ? th, ?. ?:? ?.

The events playing out in the Earth of one universe were the past of some, the present of others, and the future of others yet.

Regardless of the time it was all a slog. A presence, a being who didn't belong in this place had seen it, and many thousands of variations of it time and time again.

Magic God Othinus had succeeded in her schemes to forge the Lance of the All-Father, Gungnir.

With that weapon forged, she'd 'ended' the world before Kamijou Touma's eyes. She'd warped that Earth's universe, utilizing the anomalous force known as 'Imagine Breaker' as a point of origination, a 'restore point'.

First, she'd dragged him through the "Dark World", infinite blackness like a sea of inky void, the vision of a person stricken blind which consumed and threatened to digest Kamijou Touma's mortal form.

Then, she'd dragged him through another world, one of damnation, pestilence and endless, mindless suffering, the vision not of a Mad-God but of a sadist.

Then after so many others another, where Kamijou Touma was not Kamijou Touma, where he was little more than a bystander whose existence was brought into question.

Then there were so many others. Thousands upon thousands of twisted worlds; he who didn't belong in this timeline or in this universe watched on, as many 'pages' were flipped.

Then came the penultimate.

But that's where events changed; Kamijou Touma, Bearer of the so-called Imagine Breaker and Magic God Othinus, the wielder of Gungnir were not the only parties who knew of the truth of this twisted, perfectionist's vision of a world gone mad.

It hadn't been "game over", because he willed it. _He_ had entered. Tritonian Abraxas had some time ago pierced the veil in search of treasure, like some sleep-deprived, would-be househusband searching for the perfect engagement ring at a jeweler's.

He grinned a wide, savage grin, enormous teeth glittering in the perpetual golden daylight. His massive, cracked lips spread, and Abraxas sniffed the air like a predator searching out the scent of his prey. He came with no throne and no great moon-fortress. Instead, he came with only his bare fists and a healthy sense of greed within him, growing and feeding like a fetus.

" _It would seem that your lack of defeat is a constant, regardless of the differing flows of time. So… inconvenient. Conceit has, as with innumerable others, blinded you to reasonable calculation."_

The voice of she who wielded Gungnir echoed throughout the most recent layer, the newest Phase of the Earth.

"I could kill you, but I'm sure you have realized the problem with that. You have a way of somehow escaping conflict delivered upon you by outside factors. Your inability to die when you should may be the greatest of all misfortunes which have consistently addled you. I can kill you with odds greater than ninety-nine percent, but if you wish to fill the gap and reach one hundred percent, it would be quicker to take your own life. That would be the most wholesome option for the world."

With a snap of his fingers, the laws of that world were rewritten. Othinus could not target him with Gungnir. Should she have chosen to do so, she would fail.

Before Norse Magic God and Bearer of the Imagine Breaker the Mad Tritonian came to rest, standing tall and unopposed. There was a mighty thud which announced his coming.

"I do apologize. Am I interrupting something?"

"What is…"

She laid eye on him. Her left eyelids widened, her pupil dilating. Majin Othinus stumbled for a moment, forgetting her purpose.

For a moment, a frail remnant of mortality had crept upon her and had taken her by surprise.

"No."

Mad Tritonian Abraxas snapped his fingers, and Majin Othinus found herself bending knee, her body's neurological connection to her higher mind disabled, the proverbial wires snipped by an invisible pair of plyers, whose jaws were like those of a ravening beast.

"Ooohh. Yes. Yes, One-Eyed Othinus, yes. Interesting. It seems that no one in this world could halt your progress..."

"N-no. Not… you. **Not you.** "

"Not so brave, now are we? I believe the most wholesome option for the world be the death of you. I suppose that hardly matters, given that this world, this universe is utterly irrelevant. I seek a gift, a trinket, for my beloved."

"Tritonian. I can give you any gift… anything you desire. I ca…"

"Your Left Eye is quite physically appealing, so I'll be taking it from you. Don't receive his as some sort of personal vendetta… this universe is closest to my own in terms of distance. You, One-Eyed Othinus, are a victim of convenience and circumstance, so suffer knowing that we aren't enemies."

Othinus looked away from the pathetic form of Kamijou Touma, who'd merely found himself sitting upon a nearby bench, with many utensils which one could use in order to commit suicide; a noose hanging from the perpetually-breaking sky above, a knife, a loaded handgun.

Othinus' mind was swift, but the mind of Abraxas was swifter. Majin Othinus was unable to free herself fully from the grip of the Mad Tritonian. She was unable to call out to Gungnir, to wield its power and to restore her own.

Even if she had, her power would've paled in comparison to that wielded by the Mad Tritonian

In his guttural tongue of Tritonian, one which Majin Othinus did not recognize, Abraxas spoke.

"Gungnir, to me."

The weapon obeyed; ripped from the Norse Majin's hand, Gungnir fell into the gauntlet-clad palm of Mad Tritonian Abraxas, who merely grinned wide, utterly deranged, as he snapped his available fingers.

With the power of Gungnir, he performed a feat that would've otherwise been quite taxing; Majin Othinus was depowered, reduced to a mere mortal in flesh, blood and spirit. The latent power of one who'd mastered a certain 'branch' of magic flooded out of her like lifeblood spilling from the gutted carcass of a game animal.

Mastery of a single proverbial branch may very well have been child's play, when compared to mastery of all.

Standing well over nine feet in height, the armor-clad Tritonian looked to a confused and utterly stunned Kamijou Touma.

His singular step forward shook the very earth beneath him, rattling it like an earthquake.

Around him, the world seemed to be melting. The sky resembled a pane of shattered glass, clouds falling from it like so many diseased birds forced to abandon their flock. The high-rise structures of the wall-less Academy City dripped downwards like wet paint lathered and slapped on a canvas, pooling at the cracking, shuddering earth below. Mad Tritonian Abraxas' very existence destabilized the "Perfect World".

In the distance, all around the three individuals who'd become relevant to the moment, from all corners of the world, the human beings warped by the power of Majin Othinus screamed aloud, forming a symphony of grief as they melted, their skin taking on the physical attributes of moisturized putty. Their skeletal structures collapsed, reduced to so many piles of dust.

The world itself, the "Perfect World" bucked and screamed aloud in pain, reeling from the presence of the Tritonian.

"Mind your own business, boy. Your role in this timeline won't remain whole, given the minor… adjustments I've made. I could kill you where you stand, but… truthfully, such is a dull exercise in repetition. I've killed you, thousands of you, already. I tire of doing so. The speeches. The speeches are _killing_ me… I doubt deeply that I could sit through another one of your lectures."

"Wha…"

"Be free. Go off and frolic, now, to some other world, to some other timeline with you. Remember this as the day that "Mad" Abraxas saved your mortal existence."

With a snap of his fingers, Kamijou Touma vanished, the Imagine Breaker within his right hand bested.

One minute, he sat on a bench just outside of his high school, or the high school found in the warped world that once-Majin Othinus had forged. The next, he was gone, as if he'd been edited out of a single frame in a reel of film.

"M-mercy, Abraxas."

"Even here my name is known. Good."

"Your name is known throughout the star-ways. You are glorious and infinite in your…"

"ENOUGH! Silence! Your lack of dignity offends me; suddenly your demeanor is that of an abused child, reeling before an overbearing parent. Flattery will never save your life. Face doom with courage, girl."

Mad Tritonian Abraxas thrust a gauntleted hand forward, the ornate cores mounted within gleaming beneath the sunlight, his blue skin illuminated by the rays' golden, natural glows.

Living god gripped former Magic God, and recently depowered, proverbially impeached mortal by her throat.

Lifting her high, the cold, unfeeling metallic palm of one of two gauntlets, in which queer, glowing gems were set, was pressed against the warmth of her throat.

In his supremacy, Mad Tritonian Abraxas reveled.

"Who am I, One-Eyed Othinus?"

"T-the most powerful being in the multiverse."

"Correct. This play would almost be amusing if I hadn't heard you beg for your uninspired life so many times. At this rate, you merely sicken me, One-Eyed Othinus. Still, the blame lies on my shoulders. The others… their eyes were less appealing. I'd hope to find something different, and, behold, I have. I knew I would."

The "most powerful being in the multiverse" twirled Gungnir about, like it was a simplistic magic wand purchased from a discount store.

Othinus watched on, helpless and pathetic, as Mad Tritonian Abraxas grinned down at her, a gleam in his eye.

She had become the victim. The "Perfect World", a plane that was paradise for all but one had become her own personal Hell.

"So… petty. So unenthusiastic. So dull. I tire of conversing with you, or, this rendition of you. Others have been feistier, others have yet been even more pathetic, openly wallowing in their own sorrows. While you still make my stomach churn, you're… somewhere in between. Milquetoast."

With the other gauntleted hand, the Tritonian reached for former Majin Othinus' face. Her legs kicked, her heart beat within her chest as a set of great, gauntleted fingers, index, middle and thumb moved inwards, approaching her as if they were the serpents of some haunting nightmare, slithering forth from inky abyssal depths.

Warm, liquid agony, desperation, fear, anger, resentment, hatred; she'd become a stewing pot of negativity, in which a truly foul broth bubbled.

From the corners of her visible left eye, tears fled, dripping down her left cheek, along her chin, and downwards, towards her partially-exposed bosom. Recently depowered Majin Othinus released a pained gasp, as Abraxas' grip tightened on her mortal throat, denying her of the oxygenized air she'd needed to breathe into her ancient, fetid lungs.

"My precious little sugarplum always has had a morbid taste in jewelry. And humor, for that matter… fret not, One-Eyed Othinus. I plan to erase this universe once my duty here is completed. You'll be little more than a residual series of electrical impulses, drifting. Now… let's begin. I really should have acted on this thought sooner. What a _lovely_ gift this will be!"

Once-Magic God Othinus' screams went on to echo throughout the cosmos.

* * *

February 8th, 2004. 12:14 AM.

For someone who'd been through so much chaos, someone who'd stared death in the face, spat into said face and emerged alive and (mostly) well, the number one ranked esper in all of Academy City certainly found himself in a less-than-dangerous situation.

Though, it hadn't started out that way.

If anything, it'd started out as a very dangerous number of happenings, one following the path of another, and so on.

At first, it'd been a rocky beginning of forceful slaps to the face, kicking and protesting, rambling lectures delivered by Yomikawa Aiho and words of wisdom from the apparently perpetually-calm Yoshikawa Kikyou, the only individual who talked any sense in the household, at least by Accelerator's standards.

In the present, all things had calmed. Last Order, the 'Control Tower' of the Misaka Network, overlord and less-than-tyrannical observer, was fast asleep in her bed, her Gekota-themed sheets and comforter covering her tiny form, her pillow, with its Gekota pillowcase pulled over it tucked beneath her little head.

Quietly, the eight-year-old child who, like her adoptive guardian had faced death down on more than one occasion dreamed her child dreams, a small, contented smile on her face.

In their own separate beds, within the bedroom across from Last Order's own, Yomikawa Aiho and Yoshikawa Kikyou slumbered.

Two of the residency's five occupants remained awake.

Seated upon the luxurious, fine leather couch placed in the living quarters of Yomikawa Aiho's residency within the apartment complex identified as Family Side were Accelerator and Misaka Worst, the person he'd come to call his girlfriend.

Of all the things Accelerator once called her, from "bitch", to "dumbass", to "idiot", Academy City's "top dog" found himself calling her considerably less aggressive pet names in the present.

Unless she managed to royally push his buttons, and trigger a subsequent, figurative nuclear holocaust.

Some truly dull and uninspired film was playing on the living quarters' widescreen, sixty-five-inch television, one of Accelerator's more recent purchases. Whatever was occurring in the film – Accelerator had proverbially, but not literally tuned it out – it served only to bathe him and Misaka Worst, his girlfriend, in its silvery, vaguely lunar-esque illumination.

It appeared to be some kind of monster movie – some unintelligent dumbass of a thirty-something-year-old woman playing a supposedly teenaged female character, someone who'd almost certainly made a series of poor decisions typically depicted in films of the genre was fleeing through some stereotypically spooky woodlands, while a lumbering thing, covered in seaweed, its flesh pocked with scars and boils stumbled along after her, awkwardly tripping over its own feet as it engaged in its pursuit.

It almost resembled a gorilla, whatever the creature and likely antagonist of the film was supposed to be; Its shoulders were broad, its arms and legs elongated and rubbery. It was shown only from the rear, its face and frontal features obscured from view.

"Tou-san, this movie is boring."

"Yeah. I know."

"This girl needs to die already, she's a complete moron."

"You think? The monster is a fucking imbecile. How hasn't it managed to catch this bitch yet? Some monster."

"Misaka would pick up a bat, or maybe a four-by-four and smack that ugly thing around. Maybe Misaka would just avoid tripping over tree roots. That'd work too."

Accelerator grumbled to himself. There was something on his mind, something personal. Tending to his own physical needs was becoming a drag – tugging on himself like his body was some kind of water pump was hardly a romantic thing.

Then again, even by his own admission, Accelerator was hardly a romantic person.

Academy City's "top dog" grabbed for the nearby remote, and flicked the channel, changing it to something else.

There was one channel which Accelerator stopped on, momentarily, allowing the signal to adjust. Though Misaka Worst was occupied with her ravaging of her boyfriend's neck, his shoulder and the side of his face, Academy City's "top dog" watched text crawl by at the bottom of the screen.

It was a news channel, one of Academy City's many deliverers of completely non-biased and completely genuine current events and other nonsensical bologna.

"Over 1000 Students Reported Seriously Wounded, Numbers Steadily Climbing. Causes Unknown, Most Found Within Their Own Student Dorms, No Signs of Struggle/Foul Play. We Will Be Staying With This Story, Reporting Details as The Story Develops."

" _Goddamn Sons of Taured. Fuck off with your shit. You get me involved in your bullshit, and you're all going to fucking regret being born."_

Accelerator flicked the station to another, hoping for a better find.

The next displayed something quite lewd; without stumbling over a flowery description of visual erotica, Accelerator had stumbled upon a pornographic film.

In fact, Accelerator hadn't even intended to flick over to a pornographic channel; whatever channel he'd switched to, it simply happened to be broadcasting late-night pornography.

Accelerator merely clicked his tongue, choosing not to flick away from the sights playing out before him, and before his deviously-minded girlfriend. She'd turned her attention to the broadcast as well, eyelids narrowing as her lips curled into a devious grin.

An older man, displayed from the waist-up, with the camera hovering over his shoulder was repeatedly thrusting into a younger woman, who moaned aloud with each forward motion the older man's hips made, maneuvering back and forth like the motions of a perverted rocking chair.

She seemed to be enjoying herself, though Accelerator couldn't be certain. Her eyes were closed, the windows to her soul obscured. For all he knew, the young woman on the television could've been internally lamenting every decision she'd ever made.

Worst shrugged either of her shoulders and snuggled close to the boy she'd once sought to kill, the boy who mowed down over ten thousand of the Sisters, her boyfriend, the strongest esper to ever walk the Earth, Academy City's "top dog".

He had had no limits, no inhibitors, he who could challenge the armies of the entire world on his own without end.

Pornography was fine, too.

That almost certainly meant that her "romantic" partner was looking for something in particular, something base and bestial. He must've been looking to sate that animalistic craving of his.

Moreover, through animalistic release, Worst could steer her thoughts away from _that_ , the past.

She was more than willing to get her hands and her vaginal cavity dirty, for that matter. Like a cricket producing its mating call, Misaka Worst rubbed her legs together, both of which weren't even close to being covered by her 'naughty' bathrobe, attire which doubled as her sleeping attire.

"Is there something you need, tou-san? Misaka is at your disposal… everyone's asleep, Misaka has disconnected from the Network, so the Control Tower won't be able to spy on us."

"Yeah."

"Just tell Misaka."

Shrugging off her robe, Misaka Worst allowed the article of clothing to drift away from her form, with its soft, silky, and incredibly smooth skin, like a sheet of ice falling from a slanted waterfall, brought tumbling into a metaphorical river below by an increase in temperature.

Clambering into her boyfriend's lap, Misaka Worst tilted her head to one side, a sinister grin spreading across her face. Worst's lips curled upwards, as she thrust her ample bosom into Accelerator's face.

"Maybe you want to suck on them? Misaka has delicious milk, tou-san. Misaka could fuck your cock while you milk her tits dry. You could also hook up a milking machine to Misaka's tits and drink Misaka's milk through a straw while she fucks your cock."

"Worst, do me a favor and turn around."

"Oooh. Tou-san wants to watch Misaka's ass bounce, Misaka gets it. You're welcome to lick, kiss it, as much as you'd like. Misaka knows just how much tou-san loves her ass and tits."

With haste, an almost feverish speed of movement, Misaka Worst quickly pulled Accelerator's simplistic beige slacks down after she'd unbuckled, and then tossed away the belt that'd held them in place. They found themselves around their wearer's legs, and soon the undergarment of Academy City's "top dog" joined them.

Not to Misaka Worst's surprise, he was as hard as a rock, thick and pulsating; Accelerator was just big enough to pleasure her, and just thick enough to rub against her walls, but not large enough to poke at her lower intestine or otherwise impale her.

The fleshy utensil was just the right size. The amber-eyed Misaka Worst licked her lips.

"Oi," Accelerator remarked, casually.

He leaned back, resting one but not both of his arms along the back of the piece of furniture. He produced a yawn, as Misaka Worst began to work him up and down with her right hand, while she used the other to accomplish 'other' goals, ones which involved going just a bit lower; Worst spat onto the utensil's head, not bothering to hunt down any sort of manmade lubricant.

"Yes, tou-san? Misaka is listening," Worst purred.

"You're taking your pill, right? I don't want any fucking "surprises". That dumbass Hamazura just had one today, remember? Don't want a goddamn thing like that happening, understood?"

"Of course. Misaka answered the phone and heard his sobs of desperation, after all… that tickled Misaka's fancy. Hamazura-san cries like a beta male cuck."

"Cuck"? You've been on that fucking imageboard again, haven't you? Knock it off. Worst, I'm dead serious. I don't want any of that drama. If you lie to me about taking your pill and you get knocked up, I'll push you down the fucking stairs, pull the fetus out, and strangle the little shit to death with its own umbilical cord."

Both Accelerator and Misaka Worst alike knew that he was exaggerating his threatening and arguably twisted words.

"Talk dirty to Misaka, tou-san. Tell Misaka how much you want to beat her up. Don't fret, tou-san, Misaka has been taking her pill every day, at the same time. Misaka doesn't want to carry a parasite in her womb either. So, you can cum inside Misaka as much as you'd like. Unless Misaka's on her period. Then you have to cum in Misaka's asshole instead."

Misaka Worst enthusiastically turned herself around, settling herself in Accelerator's lap before long. She rose, pushing herself upwards with the aid of her legs. Worst stretched one outwards, while using the other to hold herself upwards; for a moment, Accelerator compared his girlfriend to some sort of master acrobat.

"Don't hurt yourself."

"Fucking your cock doesn't hurt Misaka. It feels good. Awwweh, is tou-san concerned for Misaka's feelings and needs? That just makes Misaka want to fuck your cock, until you cum inside, even more. Misaka knows that you can be a romantic when you want to be."

"I'll show you "romantic" when you're gargling my fucking cum."

"Ooooooh! Misaka likes it! So aggressive~! GRR~!"

Worst threw her head back, and took as a deep breath as two became one. She hissed, slightly, swiftly releasing carbon dioxide as she settled in place.

Slowly, like she was rubbing her back against a tree in order to itch a section of her skin, Misaka Worst began to bounce. It started lightly, at first, gently and quite slow-paced.

Worst would hiss aggressively, and her boyfriend would close his eyes, his head sunk into the back of the couch, either of his hands rested upon his girlfriend's posterior.

But then she began to bounce faster. Her rate of movement increased, and her hisses became restrained, subdued moans. Misaka Worst repeatedly threw her head back, causing her shoulder-length, chestnut brown hair to flutter about like the tendrils of some eldritch abomination, or, alternatively, like the wings of some angelic being.

Worst was somewhere between a monster and an angel. Accelerator was more than well aware that he same could be said about him.

Her amber eyes were hidden from view, her eyelids set over them, closed shut.

"Fuck me, you goddamn bitch," Accelerator snarled, as quietly as he possibly could. "Ride faster, or I'll smack you upside the head."

"Please hit Misaka as hard as you can, Misaka wants it rough."

He didn't want to admit it, even to himself, but he felt it. The feeling was pounding at his chest, tugging at his consciousness. His lower body was tingling, his crotch feeling as if was being tickled.

If he didn't hold onto his higher mind, and, therefore his body, Accelerator was going to cum inside, and Worst would have a field day. He wouldn't hear the end of it. The laughter and ridicule would be unbearable.

" _She'd fucking tell that cyborg-brat too, I bet… Worst, you bitch."_

Accelerator reached outwards, grabbing onto a tuft of Misaka Worst's hair with his right hand. He yanked back with considerable force, which caused his girlfriend to produce a soft and deeply-pleasured moan.

"Yeeesssssss! Pull on Misaka's hair just like that."

Releasing her, Accelerator pulled his left arm back, his left hand's palm outstretched.

"You ready?"

"Misaka is ready, tou-san~. You have Misaka's full consent to slap her around as you please. Misaka loves it. Misaka will just keep fucking your cock until you bust a nut inside, no matter how much you hurt her… Misaka would _love_ to have shiners."

"No. Forget it, you fucking freak. I'm not giving you a black eye."

"Boo."

Smack.

The sound of flesh connecting with flesh rang out; though it was hardly delivered with enough force to cause any sort of lasting harm, Misaka Worst still had to restrain a pleasured shriek. She buried the desire, piled mounds of proverbial mental soil over it and left it there, in the metaphorical backwoods of her higher mind.

She gritted her teeth all the way, as she continued to bounce on her boyfriend's utensil.

"Like that? Fucking bitch. It's almost too easy to smack you around."

"Misaka looooooooooves it~. Keep beating her up! Misaka wants to be your little battered housewife! Abuse Misaka, beat her up! Push Misaka into drawers and knock her down, punch her in the face! Hit Misaka as hard as you caaaaaan! Tou-san! Tou-san! Tou-san! Tou-san Tou-san Tou-san TOU-SAN… Misaka feels so good when she gets fucked by you!"

"I know you do. Goddamn… bitch… heh. You'll just keep fucking me even when I call you names and talk down to you. You're something pathetic…"

Suddenly, Accelerator grabbed onto either of Worst's hips. His grip tightened perpetually, his head thrown back. His hair, as white as snow was tossed about. Like Worst, he gritted his teeth as his hips bucked.

"Aweh! Is tou-san… about to… cum? W-who said that… you could… cum inside? M-Misaka… wants it so bad… give Misaka a n-nice… w-warm… creampie."

Accelerator produced a swift inhalation as his own hips bucked one last time.

"FUUUUUUCK!"

Misaka Worst threw her head back as far as it would go, grabbing herself, rubbing herself, nearly biting off the tip of her own tongue as she was filled to the brim with reproductive fluid.

Neither found themselves able to speak, as Misaka Worst dismounted, stumbled forwards, only barely catching herself mid-fall.

Some few moments passed, and, as such, silence descended, before Accelerator broke it, passing a series of worded vocalizations through it like a blade.

"Oi, Worst. You okay?"

"Misaka has never felt better… Misaka can only assume that you want to cuddle now. You've always been a big softie, in spite of the shit you spew. Misaka needs a shower first, so she can wipe away the impurities left by your dirty hands. Misaka also needs to wash your cum out of her cunt! Nasty~."

"What sort of shit are you babbling about?"

Accelerator picked himself up from his seat on the couch, pulling his undergarment up, followed by his slacks, which he buckled into place before he retrieved his belt, which was then wrapped throughout the slacks' many beltloops.

He opened either of his arms, looking on expectantly as the completely unclothed Misaka Worst rested her hands, with their shaking arms on her hips. As her arms did, Worst's legs vibrated awkwardly as well.

"Yes, okay, Misaka will give you a hug… paaaathetic~."

"Just shut the fuck up."

Academy City's "top dog" took Misaka Worst, his girlfriend, into an embrace. Either of his arms found their way around her bodacious hips, while Worst's own arms managed to 'magically' find themselves around her boyfriend's shoulders.

Grinning mischievously, Worst leaned in, her amber irises staring into Accelerator's own orbs of crimson.

"I love you, you irritating bitch."

"Misaka loves your mone… erm, Misaka means, Misaka loves you too."

Worst moved in for a kiss; her lips were set to make contact with Accelerator's own. Accelerator himself had conveniently reached down towards his girlfriend's rear; either of her cheeks soon found themselves clasped in the palms of his hands.

And, so, as fate would have it, along came a cockblock.

In the back pocket of his slacks, Accelerator's phone rang. It vibrated against its owner's leg, and played a soft, melodic tune; though said tune was partially drowned-out by the layer of fabric that was cast over it, the tune remained audible, to an extent.

"Ooh, ooh! Can Misaka suck your cock while you're on the phone?"

"No. I'm fucking done with your shit tonight. Go get yourself cleaned up."

Worst grinned, widely. That, of course, was tsundere code for "I'm not in the mood". Her boyfriend never was very good with vocalizing his feelings with the sort of words most people would use. Worst hardly minded; his aggressive streak turned her on like nothing else quite could.

Even if some might've seen malice in it, Misaka Worst knew there was none. This was cemented by the fact that, before he answered his phone, Accelerator placed a gentle and affectionate kiss to her lips, and then ran his fingers across either of his girlfriend's cheeks.

He even went as far as to offer his girlfriend a thin smile, a small and weak thing that lasted no longer than a few seconds before it faded from existence like steam rising from a crackling, roaring fire, unleashed and unrestrainable.

As Worst moved towards the residency's bathroom, her hips swaying seductively from side to side, Accelerator threw himself back down upon the couch, relieved and ready for whatever kind of insanity was about to come metaphorically knocking on his proverbial door.

He raised his unlocked smartphone to his ear, and kicked his feet up. Accelerator spoke.

"What."

"Accelerator-chan, the plot thickens."

"Make sense. Right now, you're not making any. What the _fuck_ are you on about?"

"Musujime knows about magic. Everyone in GROUP knows about it, now, blame those Taured cocksuckers, nothing to hide. Kami-yan's also infected her with Kami Disease, but that was inevitable. She's with us, on the move to London. We're moving to resolve… the situation."

"And? Why the fuck are you telling me this? Why do I, no, why should I care? That isn't GROUP business."

"But it is now, Accelerator-chan. Since Musujime is in on the conspiracy now, I have no reason not to bring you and Biribiri-chan's lover along for the ride, we could use the backup. By this point I'm sure you know why. Biribiri-chan's lover is on his way, so, just for a few minutes, pull your shlong out of your girlfriend and get to Hokkaido Airport, ASAP. Horton confirmed it a GROUP assignment. Don't blame me, blame Kami-yan."

Accelerator did know why. This was all the fault of that fucking fourth-rate. He was supposed to be the foil. Why couldn't that third-rate brat get along with anyone who wasn't that goddamn, idiot of a hero? Accelerator's head throbbed, as he gripped his right temple with his index finger and thumb.

"Leave her out of this, fuck you Tsuchimikado. I'm going to kill that idiot hero when I see him. I'm going to beat the shit out of Move Point too. What the fuck is that hero dumbass thinking, pulling shit like this?"

"Think of it like this: with Musujime in on the game, we literally have no reason not to make it a GROUP mission."

"How do you figure that, Tsuchimikado?"

"You're just the sort of extra firepower we need, and, it'll keep heat off our G-man paymasters, and that's good for us: we get paid to be the fall-guys. Paid BIG. Horton's talking millions of yen, Gladio funds, transferred through the appropriate channels of course. Good for you, too. Maybe you'll be able to make your own harem, eh? Why have one girlfriend when you can have a bunch?"

"I thought I told you to leave her out of this. Do you want to die?"

"Yeah, yeah, tough guy. Right back at'cha, buddy."

The call was dropped. The rapidly-speaking and nervous-sounding Tsuchimikado Motoharu had terminated his end of the two-way connection. Accelerator clicked his tongue, and stuffed his phone into the back pocket of his slacks.

Just what was that idiot hero doing? Science and magic weren't supposed to be interfering with another; Estelle, among others, would've been most displeased.

The answer was obvious enough: he was trying to be "the good guy" again. Then again, Accelerator found himself in no position to criticize the person who'd saved him from himself, his worst enemy.

Accelerator rose from the couch one final time, and made his way to the residency's bathroom. Down the hall, past the bedrooms of the slumbering Last Order, Yoshikawa Kikyou and Yomikawa Aiho, past he and Worst's own rarely-used bedroom. At the end of the hall, the bathroom door was closed, though, upon turning the knob, Accelerator discovered it to be unlocked.

"Ouh, tou-san. Have you come to fuck Misaka's pussy while she showers? Misaka wouldn't mind being fucked while she cleans herself up. Instead of cumming inside, you could pull out and cum in the tub."

Accelerator could only shake his head, no, exasperated.

Just why Misaka Worst had decided to leave the shower curtain open, Accelerator couldn't even begin to ponder. There was obviously some answer, but it was unknown to him.

Water from the shower sprayed about everywhere; on the drywall beyond the shower's interior, onto him, and onto the carpeted flooring of the bathroom as well.

Why a bathroom floor was carpeted, Accelerator would never know the answer to that either. He'd likely have to hunt down the architects, and even if he did, the answer they'd give would likely be half-assed and idiotic.

"GROUP shit, I'm going out. I don't know when I'm going to be back."

"Misaka will be right here waiting."

"… just like that? It's that easy? You're not going to fucking stupidly insist that you're coming?"

"No, Misaka doesn't want to go anywhere. You can handle yourself, after all. Misaka doesn't have to be there to babysit. Besides, this will give Misaka time to bother the Control Tower without you spoiling our fun."

He clicked his tongue. Accelerator rolled either of his shoulders and grumbled under his breath, momentarily.

Then, Misaka Worst turned the shower rod on her boyfriend; she would've sprayed him in the face, but he'd seen the 'attack' coming from a mile away. With a simple calculation, Accelerator reflected the water, manipulating the element and turning it back at his girlfriend; she found herself being sprayed in the face, her tactical error costing her a small slice of her pride.

"Nice try, you fucking bitch," Accelerator commented.

Worst shrugged, as she closed the shower curtain; this hardly made sense, given that the bathroom was already soaking wet.

"Heheheh. Misaka will miss you, but not enough to try and stop you from going out to party it up with your friends. Misaka would like to have tou-san all to herself, but Misaka has come to terms with the fact that tou-san sort of, kind of, not really has a life. Sometimes."

"Don't try and guilt me, cunt."

"Misaka wouldn't do anything of the sort~. Go on and have your fun, tou-san. Misaka won't use toys for the whole time that you're gone, so her pussy will nice and tight for you."

Worst had expected a response of indifference, something along the lines of "whatever", or, more likely, "fuck off".

"That's a good girl."

Her expectations were shattered, and she found herself giggling.

Turning his back, Accelerator just barely managed to avoid another blast of water, aimed at him by his girlfriend, who'd utilized the shower rod as something of a makeshift water gun. He slammed the bathroom door behind him on the way out; Worst cackled aloud like a wicked witch all the while.

Accelerator still had one destination to visit before he left; he'd inform Yomikawa Aiho and Yoshikawa Kikyou of his absence via handwritten note. That much had already been decided upon.

But there was one person in the household to whom he couldn't announce his leave and temporary absence through a written note.

Academy City's "top dog" came to a rest before the bedroom door of Last Order; numerous Gekota decals were present, slapped all over the eight-year-old child-clone's door. Gekota as a firefighter, Gekota as a policeman, Gekota as a suit-wearing politician, standing before a podium, Gekota as a maid… it was more than enough to make Accelerator's head spin.

Then, he opened the door, turning the cool, metallic knob. It squeaked aloud, the sound amplified by the silence of the night that'd descended upon the residency.

Last Order looked like she was in the deepest of slumbers. Her eyes were closed shut, her lips open. A small droplet of drool threatened to drip down the side of her face and onto her Gekota pillowcase.

He set himself down at the foot of the bed, and tapped on the cocooned form of the child.

No response.

He did so again; Accelerator pressed his hand down upon her with more force. Though she stirred, Last Order didn't immediately awaken. Instead, she rolled about, unconsciously, before she suddenly stopped.

"Brat," he whispered.

Nothing.

"BRAT! Wake the fuck up."

Last Order lunged forward, her eyelids wide, pupils wider. She panted for a moment, swiftly looking from side to side. Then, she noticed the form of Accelerator, and her nervousness seemed to calm.

"Why are you waking MISAKA up at this hour, MISAKA MISAKA inquires groggily, turning to peer at the clock next to her bed, which reads: twelve, thirty-eight."

"There's something I've got to do. I'm going overseas, don't know when I'm going to be back."

"W-what?! MISAKA suddenly asks, panicking since MISAKA MISAKA is beginning to quickly understand the gravity of the situation!"

Accelerator's hand fell upon Last Order's head. He patted the tiny clone, gently, like he was patting the head of a concerned dog.

With either of her considerably smaller hands, Last Order grabbed onto the hand of her guardian, tightly, as if she was hugging it.

Accelerator swallowed, hard.

"You'll be fine with Yomikawa and Yoshikawa. The bitch will take care of you too. I won't be gone long, maybe a week at most."

In truth, Accelerator didn't quite know how long he'd be absent. He breathed a sigh of exasperation. It was never easy, lying to the goddamn brat. It only seemed to become more difficult.

"Promise, MISAKA MISAKA inquires, hoping to receive confirmation of the fact that you're telling the truth."

"Yeah."

"Promise! MISAKA MISAKA angrily exclaims, attempting to show you that MISAKA means business!"

"I fucking promise, okay? A goddamn week, that's it."

Last Order reluctantly nodded.

Accelerator cringed. He ground his teeth, and felt his throat beginning to tighten. His heartrate increased, and he could almost feel his pulse beating inside of either of his wrists. Accelerator could physically detect his neck's repeated thuds.

The eight-year-old child looked as if she was on the verge of tears, for a moment, before she replaced that facial expression with a brave face, one of bravado and one of courage.

"MISAKA knows that you have your reasons for not bringing MISAKA along with you on your journey. MISAKA simply hopes that you'll be safe, and that you'll come back to MISAKA, MISAKA MISAKA explains, attempting to maintain a level-headed appearance. MISAKA would also like to remind you that the malicious one cares deeply for you, and it would hurt her very much if anything happened to you, MISAKA MISAKA states solemnly."

"I know she does."

Accelerator put on his own 'brave face', a stoic expression. He took the little clone into his arms and held her tightly, only for a moment, before he broke away and retraced his steps, moving back towards the foot of the bed, from where he'd risen.

"Go back to bed. You're going to be tired in the morning if you don't get your ten hours… spoiled goddamn brat."

* * *

The scenario, despite being a very strange one, a scenario which Kamijou Touma certainly couldn't have expected or predicted before its happening was one which was playing out far more peacefully than most would've assumed.

This may or may not have had plenty to do with the fact that the luxurious private jet he and seven other individuals shared was incredibly spacious, with many rows of many seats, five to a row. Each was constructed of soft fabric, which one could almost sink into; Seria had vocally compared her own, identical to all others, to something akin to the surface of a memory foam mattress, soft and comforting.

Among those who'd been lulled to sleep by the seats were the third strongest esper in all of Academy City, the Railgun, and the former Magic God Othinus, known to some aboard the private jet as "Olivia-chan".

"There might be something you haven't considered," Touma remarked to Tsuchimikado Motoharu, who he'd crossed paths with.

"Yeah? And what's that?"

"We're going to need exit forms."

"No."

Tsuchimikado Motoharu had stated it so confidently, that even Kamijou Touma was impressed. He looked to the Backstabbing Blade, who flashed him one of those shit-eating grins of his.

"Horton-san has already cleared us. This is a Gladio-funded and sponsored trip, above even the authority of the Board of Directors… you can thank yours truly for getting the gears grinding, but, GROUP is going to be taking the shit, and… the rewards… for any messes that we make. We're untouchable. Kind of surprised you didn't bother me about this earlier."

"You were the last thing on my mind. I was talking with the girls."

"Of course, you were Kami-yan. Of course, you were. You've certainly got your priorities straight, don't you?"

"Shut the fuck up."

Motoharu merely shrugged either of his shoulders and continued on his way, while Kamijou Touma turned back to face Musujime Awaki, Kumokawa Seria, and Index.

While both Awaki and Index were clad in their usual respective attire, Seria had changed. She was dressed less to impress and more based on comfort; she wore simplistic, blue and white plaid flannel clothing, likely intended to be pajamas. On her feet, she wore fluffy socks, white like the color of an elderly man's beard.

Awaki was seemingly reading along with Index, who was repeatedly pointing to particular sections of the Move Point user's crumpled-up pamphlet. Seria waved to Touma, and then patted the seat next to her; Touma wasn't about to say no.

Closing the distance between himself and Kumokawa Seria, Touma threw himself down in the seat between his senpai and Awaki, who tilted her head and looked to him.

Seria threw her right arm around her kohai's shoulder and pulled him close, setting her left in his lap, gently stroking his lower torso with the tips of her delicate, slender fingers.

"Oi, Musujime. How're you holding up? All of this must be a little sudden. Suddenness is kind of a recurring thing lately, with people who involve themselves with me at least."

"Holding up?" I'm fine, Kamijou I haven't been better in a long-ass time, I'll have you know, oh mighty and valiant he~ro."

"Oh, yeah?"

"Yeah. By the way, I wasn't' trying to mock you. 'was just teasing."

"It's cool, Musujime. I can take a joke."

Musujime Awaki shuddered, as Tsuchimikado Motoharu passed her by, tapping her teasingly on the shoulder and whispering something inaudible to most.

Kamijou Touma, however, had heard it. He'd caught the soft, whispered pseudo-words.

"Kami Diseaaassseeeeeee," they'd been.

After she'd apparently sufficiently recovered, Awaki spoke to Touma once more; he listened on as he returned his senpai's physical affection, feeling like something between a great king and an absolute god.

"On the serious though, I'd rather be doing something crazy and spontaneous like this then winding down for another "school night". That's all bullshit."

"For sure. They keep you occupied so you'll remain complacent, not question their ways, and all the fucked up shit they're doing behind the scenes."

"Right, Kamijou? Finally, someone who feels me on that! It's so dull, same thing, over and over… we've got to live a little, and if rushing into something that I barely understand isn't living, then I don't know what is. Besides, this nun says some funny things. Hey… one thing. I've… had this off feeling ever since we got on the jet. Like something's watching us… just me?"

"Nope, us too, everyone here's felt it at least once, as far as I know. Felt it since we were at that dumpy market, in district four."

Musujime Awaki nodded, a silent acknowledgement. At least she wasn't losing her mind.

Index looked up from the pamphlet, and to Touma, who she smiled at.

"You were right, Touma! Awaki is really nice too. It's good that you got rid of the mean girls! Except the short-hair loudmouth. But even she's nicer now!"

Under her breath, Awaki chuckled, quite heartily, as Index returned to examining the pages of the Move Point user's crumpled, savaged pamphlet.

"Listening to her is a hoot, and she's taught me more about this crazy stuff than Academy City ever taught me about plain ol' science… sheesh, they do like to lie and hide the truth a lot, don't they?"

Kamijou Touma nodded in affirmation.

"It's one of their favorite pastimes. Is there anything you're unclear about? How much does the pamphlet cover? I haven't looked at it a whole lot. I just know these things are causing problems."

"Actually," Awaki muttered, looking to Index, "there is something that strikes me as odd here. Whoever wrote this really doesn't like the Roman Orthodox. What have they done to anyone? Curious here, I like to have a decent reason to not like someone."

Kamijou Touma breathed a sigh. "You have no idea, Musujime. They're responsible for a lot of magic problems. A while back, and I do mean a while back, before we even met for the first time, there was this one incident, revolving around this girl named Orsola Aquinas… long story."

Index tilted her head to one side, causing her silver hair to flow to the left, in accordance with the slant her neck had taken.

"The bad guys turned out to be the good guys, and the good guys turned out to be the bad guys! Well, that's the simple way of putting it."

"Index got it about right, at least on the surface; she can tell you more than I can about the little details, she's the magic expert. Well, the only one here who's awake."

Kumokawa Seria had leaned in, as well; the tale of this "Orsola Aquinas" was unknown to her. Raising an eyebrow, Seria listened in as Index began her explanation. Touma, on the other hand, simply leaned back in his seat and shut his eyes.

Sleep still seemed to be an impossibility. Then again, that wasn't all that much of an issue; his superior body didn't need constant refreshment and nourishment. He was above all of that. Touma's lips curled upwards, into an amused grin.

"Index, might you regale me this tale, as well?"

"Okay Seria! Listen up!"

Index softly cleared her throat. Then, placing her hands, both clasped, into her lap, she looked from Awaki, and then to Seria, both of whom were paying attention; the Move Point user yawned, but Index took no offense, especially given the lateness of the hour.

"There was, and still is a Grimoire known as the Book of the Law. It's the holy text of the religious movement known as Thelema, the same movement responsible for creating the ritualistic practice of Spirit Cooking."

"Spirit… Cooking?"

"Index-san, what is this "Spirit Cooking?"

Both Awaki and Seria leaned inwards, further, seemingly trying to receive the best 'quality' of explanation possible from the little silver-haired nun. Kamijou Touma quietly listened on; hearing Index offer one of her expository lectures was a nostalgic callback to, in the present, what seemed like much simpler times.

"Spirit Cooking", Index began, ironically raising her right hand's index finger as she spoke, "is the practice of consuming a mix of honey, oil, breastmilk, semen and menstrual blood for the purpose of symbolizing contact between the microcosm, mankind and the macrocosm."

Awaki shuddered, crossing her right leg over her left as she closed her eyes for a moment. Seria swallowed, hard; she suddenly felt like she was about to lose her only partially-digested dinner.

"It's said," Index began once more, unabated, "that, if its words are deciphered during a certain moment in which the star-ways are aligned, the Book of the Law will spell the end of the Church of the Cross. Hence, you can bet that the Church of the Cross wanted to get their hands on the Book of the Law, to prevent that from happening."

Awaki attempted to shake off the nausea that'd sudden taken grip over her form. She tried, failed, and tried once more, shrugging either of her shoulders and cracking her neck from side to side, as if she had to physically exercise something from the depths of her very being.

"And… this "Orsola" girl, she was important to this incident how, exactly?"

"Orsola Aquinas could decipher the Book of the Law, of course! Therefore, the Church of the Cross sought to be rid of her, to protect itself. That's the short version. She's still alive because we helped her, especially Touma."

"Don't sell yourself short, Index. You did plenty."

"Oooofff course he did… my he~ro."

Seria produced a soft, unsurprised and bemused "mm".

Then, an individual who Kamijou Touma hadn't seen in some time approached. He'd known before Awaki, Index and Seria; his microscopic, nanorobotic scouts had delivered news of the masked party's approach to their main mass, though they remained "abroad", fluttering about the interior of the grounded jet; for reasons, unknown to Touma, it hadn't obtained liftoff, or moved even an inch.

Perhaps it had something to do with the phone call that the Backstabbing Blade apparently had to make in the jet's onboard restroom, of all places. Something suspicious was abounds, and Touma knew it.

Just as the individual who regularly disguised himself as Unabara Mitsuki was about to speak, however, two other individuals entered the private jet. From within, a staircase had been lowered, after one set of doors had slid open, pulled inwards and disappearing as they became one with the jet's body.

Kamijou Touma's eyelids widened.

Moving towards him, with someone who closely resembled Misaka Mikoto at his side, either of her arms wrapped around his own, was the strongest esper in all of Academy City. His footfalls were purposeful and quick.

"You… goddamn… fucking hero. You've got some explaining to do, and just what the fuck is that shit? Is something watching us?"


	24. Travelers' Tales

"Accelerat…?"

"Shut the fuck up, come with me, goddamn hero. We're going downstairs. Don't wake up the third-rate, I'd rather not have a goddamn earful."

"Misaka will come too… maybe she'll tap Onee-Sama on her shoulder, in order to awaken her from her slumber."

"Don't even try it. Bitch. Either of those things."

Everything was happening so quickly. Kamijou Touma's head would've been spinning, if he'd possessed a human mind, or even a human head for that matter.

Kumokawa Seria, someone who could hardly be considered lacking intellectually was keeping track of the swiftly-exchanged words, while Musujime Awaki continued to speak with Index, whom she appeared to have taken a liking to.

"Touma-kun," Seria remarked. "A word?"

Kamijou Touma didn't respond immediately.

Apparently, he was enraged, or was supposed to feel enraged.

Looking at the face of Accelerator alone should've been enough to make him vomit, yet, no matter the desire, no vomit would come.

It was a face Kamijou Touma wouldn't have minded slicing away with a rusty butter knife.

"Yeah, sure thing Seria. What's on your mind?"

A vocalized response finally came.

Touma turned from Seria, and then back to the expectant and irritated-looking Accelerator. Etzali had raised either of his arms, and had placed them behind his head. Evidently, the number one strongest esper was going to abide the Aztec magician's presence.

"You're going to have to wait a minute. I'll meet you down there."

Accelerator clicked his tongue as he turned away, followed by Etzali, who winked knowingly in Touma's direction. Worst offered the Misaka Network's Savior a half-hearted wave; Touma returned something a bit more enthusiastic.

Touma temporarily took a seat next to Seria. She leaned inwards, quite quickly and placed an affectionate kiss to her kohai's lips, one which hung in limbo for a moment, before she reluctantly parted.

"Perhaps you could keep me up to date with your business involving the Accelerator? I'm quite aware that he's hardly a fan of outsiders, and to him I most certainly must be that."

It was Touma's turn to place a kiss to his senpai's lips, taking control of the situation and subsequently sending a surge of arousal throughout Kumokawa Seria's form. A series of shivers traversed her form, as if she was cold. Almost instinctively, Touma's hands fell to Seria's legs, a development she certainly didn't mind by any stretch of the imagination.

Setting her own hands atop her kohai's, Seria tilted her head to one side.

"No worries, I can do that," Touma finally answered. "To be honest, I'm not even sure what he's…"

Kamijou Touma's words were cut off.

Over many sets of loudspeakers, which were apparently placed strategically throughout the jet, the smug, almost childishly giddy voice of Tsuchimikado Motoharu was broadcast, buzzing and crackling with many 'layers' of static 'atop' the vocalizations.

Index and Awaki had ceased their conversations, and both looked from one side, and then to the other.

"Hello, passengers of Flight Fourteen Eighty-Eight… if you get the reference, great. If not, don't search that up on the Internet, you'll find yourself on more than one watch list. This is your Captain speaking. We'll be achieving liftoff in…"

"CAPTAIN?!"

Musujime Awaki and Kamijou Touma had both exclaimed their respective rhetorical inquiries at once. In response to the undesirable development, Kumokawa Seria merely crossed her arms beneath her bosom and clicked her tongue.

"twenty-five seconds! Strap the fuck in, because once this baby goes, she GOES! Pure Dark Matter acceleration!"

" _So… Dark Matter has thrown his lot in with Gladio and the Oculus, then… an interesting development. I'll have to keep an eye on that. If that sentient dung beetle is crafting weaponry and other machinations for Academy City's faculties… it appears you'll have your work cut out for you, my little kohai."_

Seria softly cleared her throat.

"Where were we, my kohai?"

"Seria, I suddenly feel a lot less contented, knowing that the fucking snake is flying this thing. Since when did he know how to fly!?"

"I've no clue, it's not a development I was ever made aware of prior," Seria admitted with a shrug of her shoulders.

Touma leaned forward in his seat, allowing his wrists, and his hands below to dangle limply. Ribbons of machine-phase matter danced across his form like twirling fairies, so many ballerinas dancing across a ballroom floor.

Musujime Awaki took notice. She raised an eyebrow; didn't Kamijou say that he had never been put through the Power Curriculum?

"I didn't even know he was coming. This… changes some things. I guess that's what we've been waiting so long for… I'll find out what's going on, and I'll keep you guys in the loop."

Seria nodded in affirmation. Though cryptic, she wasn't about to hold her kohai back with incessant questioning.

Her eyelids shut, as she leaned back in her seat. Touma's senpai brushed herself against the back of her seat, producing a soft coo.

"I'm going to do my best to catch some shuteye; I'll be lucky if I get any, given who our "Captain" is… I love you, my little kohai. Perhaps… I could make a request, one you could fulfil when and if you return?"

"Just say the word."

"I'd like it very much if you'd snuggle with me while I sleep. As childish as it might sound, such has long been a fantasy of mine. Even if the scenario isn't… ideal… I'll take what I can get."

Touma smiled. He truly and genuinely smiled as he reached out with his right hand, and ran his soft, icy digits over his senpai's corresponding cheek.

"I think I can manage that. Want me to wake you up when I get back here?"

"Here? Oh, no, my little kohai. You see, I was examining the floorplans, earlier, and the jet has bedroom suites on its highest level."

"Ooohh. I get it."

Kamijou Touma's smile turned to a smirk, and then to a vaguely sinister grin, one which Seria returned, with a wink to accent it.

"I'll meet you up there, then."

He prepared to take his leave after kissing his senpai on the lips one last time, and then placing his lips to the forehead of Index, who blushed, cheeks glowing a bright shade of pink. She pouted slightly, and Touma wanted nothing more than to hold her close to him; the little silver-haired nun was almost _too_ adorable.

Then, a vocalization stopped his progress in its proverbial tracks; Touma could only assume that, below, Accelerator was fuming, likely ranting about "that goddamn hero and his goddamn girls".

Perfect. Let him get angry, let him fume. The greater that animal's suffering, the better.

"Hey, he~ro. Where's mine? Sheesh, were you just going to waltz off and not show me some love?"

"Look, if you're comfortable, then I'm comfortable."

"Now that's what I like to hear. I'd imagine other boys would step away, stuttering and red-faced… but not you Kamijou. That confidence turns me right on."

Musujime Awaki rose from her seat, and stood before Kamijou Touma, her nose mere inches from his own.

He didn't flinch. His face didn't suddenly become red, nor did he find that his rate of breathing had suddenly increased, though that was likely due to the fact that he didn't breathe, or need to breathe at all.

"Toss all that standing under an umbrella in the rain and holding hands nonsense, Kamijou. The body is attracted to someone quicker than the brain is, so, let's make like a couple of animals and do the deed. Give me a kiss, you ridiculously handsome little gentleman. I like tonguing, by the way. Deep tonguing."

While Index had closed her eyes and was ranting about how Touma's polygamous conquests were 'immoral' and 'taboo', despite (or perhaps because of) her own acceptance of said conquests, Kumokawa Seria watched on, as something strange, a feeling, began to fill her form.

It was almost as if she was a jug, being filled with some sort of foreign and unknown liquid substance poured into her from a force beyond her control.

Seria's heartrate increased, causing her pulse to thud like a shack in the midst of a wracking tremor.

She licked her lips, both top and bottom, as her kohai's lips connected with Musujime Awaki's. A shockwave was sent throughout her when the Move Point user produced a soft moan, as Touma grabbed onto her posterior, and squeezed tightly. Index's rant only continued as she stuck her finger in the air and chastised the behavior of the non-human nanorobotic structure and the potential level five candidate.

This pseudo-rant, apparently, turned out to be some kind of covert parody, as the little nun soon began to shake her head, producing a short, and soft, if genuine giggle.

"Okay," Awaki murmured, between the smacking of her lips against Kamijou Touma's own. "You're good. You're really good. Best kisser I've had… so… far. You know your… way around a girl's… mouth."

Musujime Awaki's words drifted in and out as Kamijou Touma had kissed her lips, ravaging her, grabbing at her hips and her posterior.

To say that the Move Point user enjoyed herself would be an understatement.

He seemed to know just how to grab her, just where to hold her, just the right level of pressure to apply to her body.

It was as if he was some sort of perfect, inhuman existence.

Kumokawa Seria could almost see herself standing next to her kohai, pleasuring him with her right hand, while she groped the Move Point user with her left. It was similar to the feeling, the same feeling she'd experienced when her kohai had kissed the former "Magic God", Othinus, just after the quartet had finished consuming their respective dinners in his dorm, an event which had played out earlier in the evening.

What sort of deviant was she becoming?

Regardless, Seria enjoyed the sensations. She embraced them, and allowed her reeling, yet deeply aroused higher mind to retreat into a lustful, multigender and polygamous fantasy.

Seria was completely aware that something within, something previously unknown had been awakened, brought to light like treasure hauled up from a proverbial mound of soil.

Kamijou Touma had since taken his leave, having parted from Musujime Awaki, who'd returned to her seat, her face red as the outer shell of a cherry. Her right leg was crossed over her left, and she bounced her foot, clad in one of two buckled loafers up and down. Both of the Move Point user's hands were clasped in her lap.

There was a period of extended silence, which was only broken when Musujime Awaki turned to Kumokawa Seria and spoke, her cheeks growing redder with each second that passed.

"Yo, Kumokawa."

"… hm…? Musujime-san?"

Index had fallen silent, and continued to analyze Musujime Awaki's found pamphlet, a curious expression etched upon her facial features.

"I… uh. I didn't steal your man, did I?"

"Hardly~. We… understand each other's needs, Musujime-san. My Touma-kun has his own unique tastes, and I've come to abide him as he abides me in certain situations~, a Mutual Understanding if you will."

Awaki blinked as Kumokawa Seria licked her lips, like some great and fanciful feast had been placed before her.

The sorts of thoughts often held in check by rigorous mental exercise were circulating freely within Kumokawa Seria's higher mind.

As it turned out, watching Kamijou Touma interact with many girls had given birth to more than one 'taboo' fantasy.

There was a difference, however; Seria didn't attempt to restrain the thoughts as she often had in the past. Acknowledging them for what they were, Seria allowed them to flow, even as she asked a question of Index.

"Ah, Index-san! Could I ask you for a favor~?"

"… This is strange. Awaki, nowhere in the doctrine of the English Puritan Church does…"

Looking up from her 'pilfered' pamphlet, Index craned her neck, and faced Kumokawa Seria; offering her a smile, the little nun nodded her head, repeatedly, in apparent affirmation.

"Hi Seria, as a sister, one of my duties is to help those who're in need."

Seria giggled, cupping her chin in her right hand's fingers as she folded her left leg over her right. Leaning forward in her seat, she eyed Musujime Awaki almost lustfully.

If the Move Point user had been a character in a manga, she surely would've sweatdropped.

"Could you be a darling and fetch my mug? I forgot it with my other luggage, upstairs. How about this: do that for me, and I'll buy something sweet for you from the miniature café below."

"MMMMM! Okay, Seria! You'd better keep your word!"

"I will, Index-san~. Thank you very much~."

As the silver-haired nun scurried off, Kumokawa Seria took Kamijou Touma's place next to the Move Point user.

Seria leaned in, pressing her soft, sensual and full lips against Musujime Awaki's ear. Into it, she softly and sensually whispered.

"Musujime-san, how do you feel about the concept of a "group effort", hm? You can tell your senpai. Let's talk about taboos, shall we~? I'm thinking… four people. Three of us, women that is, on our mutual benefactor, Touma-kun."

Her heart was beating quickly, and blood rushed into Kumokawa Seria's face. She felt her legs nervously pushing and pulling against one another, either of her knees producing soft, barely-noticeable 'clacking' sounds.

"Kumo… kawa… san? Sheesh, are you drunk or something? Or do you suddenly and rapidly suffer from bursts of sexual arousal? That's quite the question to spring on someone."

"I know…. It's simply that, there's a first time for everything, Musujime-san. We're young, we should let ourselves experiment with our sexualities~."

Musujime Awaki shrugged, somewhat reluctantly. She offered Kumokawa Seria a crooked, half-smile.

"I mean, given… I _have_ been bitching how boring life is lately, and some sort of lust-a-thon would definitely make for one Hell of a lasting memory… shake things up a little."

The Move Point user looked over either of her shoulders.

"Sheesh, this is awkward to admit, I barely know you…"

"And I barely know you, Musujime-san but that can easily change. We're in the same nonliteral boat. I ought to mention, you smell wonderful; what sort of perfume have you applied today? If you don't mind my asking of course... I could eat you up."

"I'm… a virgin. I mean, I've kissed boys, I've been touched and all that, but I've never fucked a boy before. Or a girl for that matter. Do I want to? Hell yeah, I want to, but the boys I've involved myself with, it's all been flings, not confident enough. Too beta-y. I want an alpha to take charge."

"Likewise, though I can't say I've involved myself with others prior to my coming together with my little kohai. I've come to desire to lose my virginity in an interesting manner, with my little kohai involved of course… and is there really a set time to engage in some behavior differing from the norm? Here we are, amid a strange scenario indeed, each of us seeking to achieve a common goal. There's no time better to begin to close distance, metaphorically of course. We've a job to do after all."

Musujime Awaki was quite pleased to hear that Kumokawa Seria was taking herself, and 'the job' seriously, whatever the job was. Awaki only had a loose grasp on the concept of some threat that sought to blur the lines between science and magic, something everyone seemed to seek to keep apart.

"I ought to additionally state, being virginal is nothing to be ashamed of. Self-respect is seldom found in our rather decadent culture."

That was certainly true. Neither party knew one another very well, but, at the same time, such a thing could easily change over the course of whatever insane, sudden journey she'd gotten herself involved with.

Musujime Awaki also found herself blushing, lifeblood rushing into her fact due to the compliment offered to her by the exceedingly attractive and exceedingly charismatic Kumokawa Seria.

Was she turning into a deviant?! Engagements with other girls had never been particularly "off the table", yet, it was a part of her psyche she'd never properly explored.

Perhaps the time had come to do just that.

Musujime Awaki was forced to admit to herself that, more than once, she'd checked out the cute little ass on that half-assed teleporter, arguably the little Tokiwadai brat's best feature.

She was also forced to admit that Kumokawa Seria smelled heavenly. She still hadn't parted, she still hadn't moved. Seria's lips remained pressed against Awaki's ear. She softly breathed into the Move Point user's ear cannel, causing her to shudder, tingles rushing upwards and downwards along her spine.

The question lingering within the Move Point user's mind, however, was a simple one.

Was she ready for something of that sort? Taking risks, actually abandoning the everyday grind of a schedule, living and stepping 'outside the box' were different from frivolously engaging in 'loose' behavior.

Suddenly, Musujime Awaki found the index and middle fingers of Kumokawa Seria's right hand placed against the soft, silky skin of her right cheek. Seria tilted her head to one side and grinned a wide, crooked grin.

"You seem nervous, which contradicts what I've heard about you through undisclosable channels. It's all fine, I'm not all used to encounters of this sort myself. How about we get a taste of the possible future festivities right here? The only other individuals present are sleeping. It's just us… Index-san will return soon, but, I suppose the risk of being caught in the act will only increase the amount of arousal we both receive. I think this scenario is full of exciting things."

Musujime Awaki gulped, but she didn't experience fear or anxiousness. Instead, the pit welling up in her stomach was formed of a collection of excitement and newfound desire. It was different, it was something new, something unexpected. Finally, she was going to experience something that wasn't a dreadfully boring, day-to-day grind!

Kumokawa Seria was _hot_. Kamijou had the right of things; Seria's legs were utterly perfect, as was her exceedingly ample bosom. Her long, dark hair fell past her shoulders like a glorious, beautiful mane, a full head of almost royal-seeming hair, resembling rising (or falling) smoke in the night.

Moreover, Kumokawa Seria's intoxicating scent was drifting into the nostrils of the Move Point user, reaching her brain and seemingly tingling each of her senses, even those that weren't even remotely associated with her sense of smell. Awaki found that even more blood was rushing into her face, causing her to appear as if she was fevered.

Then, with a swift breath, a quick, hasty inhalation of oxygenized air, it was Musujime Awaki who made the first move. She could hold back no longer, nor did she wish to. She allowed a taboo to take control and grip the proverbial steering wheel of her higher mind.

She moved in, either of her hands flying upwards, apparently of their own accord. Both found their way to either of Seria's breasts, as the Move Point user's lips found themselves connecting with those of Kumokawa Seria.

Seria liked it.

Somehow, Seria enjoyed being groped by another girl; granted, Musujime Awaki was almost exceedingly attractive, with the body of a supermodel and the personality of someone who could enjoy a fresh glass of wine, but the point was made.

Seria was, somehow, enjoying sexually-charged activities with a _girl_. What was happening inside of her mind? Had some puzzle piece previously unknown been snapped into place?

The tongue went in, and Musujime Awaki found herself softly moaning. How did this girl know how to tongue so good?!

Musujime Awaki's mouth tasted like something out of a dream. So sweet, so sticky. The Move Point user's feminine features called out to Seria's hands, and they obeyed her higher mind's calls. Seria found herself stroking Awaki's thighs, attention the Move Point user seemed to enjoy greatly.

If anyone happened upon they'd have much to explain; and this only charged Seria's arousal further.

Seria's tongue lashed around the Move Point user's mouth, as either of Seria's hands found their way to Awaki's shoulders.

The respective tongues of Musujime Awaki and Kumokawa Seria touched, slapping over one another as saliva mixed and brewed, like butter being churned within a great barrel.

Seria suddenly broke away, panting slightly. She ran the sleeve of her flannel top over her mouth, and settled herself back into her seat, crossing her right leg over her left, elegantly. Musujime Awaki softly cleared her throat, as if some awkward moment had passed her by.

It'd been anything but awkward. It'd felt like the most natural thing in the world; she's regressed from the image that the society around her expected her to uphold. Musujime Awaki had tapped into something primal and repressed.

Unleashed, it was a glorious force indeed.

"W-well… y-you taste very good, Musujime-san. I… I enjoyed myself. I enjoyed myself quite a lot. I assure you that I've never done anything like this b-before…"

"I have, but… w-where did you learn to tongue so good?!"

"I suppose it c-comes naturally." Seria stuck her nose up, as if she had accomplished some great goal in a grand Olympic challenge. Evidently, not even the same sex could resist her charms.

In response, the Move Point user chuckled.

Awaki shook her head, causing her twintails to flutter about for a moment, before she crossed her own left leg over her right. Taking a deep breath, Awaki clasped her hands and set them in her lap; both girls looked as if nothing at all had happened.

But something had certainly happened, and it was perfect. Awaki's lips ached for more, as did Seria's. Both sets, in fact. Seria suddenly felt the overwhelming urge to touch herself; but that could wait.

"So. Can I count on your support, Musujime-san? You're free to decline, of course. I don't mean to pressure you into engaging in activities you're not comfortable with. I'm merely enthusiastic about trying something… different."

The moment that'd passed was certainly something that Musujime Awaki hadn't expected. It was certainly different and it was certainly 'out of the ordinary'. It was great, amazing even.

Seria had tasted so very good. Her tongue was like a rich piece of candy; when it had slid into Awaki's mouth, lashing about and crashing against her own tongue, she thought that she might've fainted.

But, intercourse? That was something else entirely. It would hurt, undoubtedly. It would likely hurt very much, and pain wasn't something that the Move Point user was after.

"Y-yeah… sheesh, I'm so bored of everything, Kumokawa-san I might as well give this a shot. It wasn't always like this. Things were anything but boring before, and, this is going to sound kinda messed up, but, I don't mind craziness when I'm the one in control of it."

Awaki looked to Seria for a moment.

"I thought a 'normal life' would be different a while back, before when…"

Kumokawa Seria rested an arm comfortingly around the Move Point user's shoulders; pulling her inward, the former simply looked ahead, as if she was focused on something beyond Musujime Awaki's field of vision.

"Musujime-san, let me tell you something before you continue, forgive me for interrupting."

"No biggie, I'm listening… s-sheesh, my heart's beating… way too fast. I think I might pass out. Catch me if I fall over, huh?"

"I'm… I am someone of importance to Academy City, so I happen be privy to the more controversial goings on. Your story isn't an unfamiliar one to me."

"People do stupid, selfish and arrogant things when we're desperate, huh, Kumokawa-san?"

"Quite… oh the things we do when we're mislead. Your work leading up to your duties with the City-funded mercenary assembly, "GROUP" was tiresome, and once you were free of the City's yoke, following the international conflict, you sought something more peaceful, a life of normality in a place that's anything but normal. Whether GROUP's original disbanding was the result of this international conflict has yet to be explained to me, but I have my own hunches."

Awaki shrugged either of her shoulders, and then leaned back, rubbing her back against her seat.

"Yeah, that's about it. The incident started and ended with this little half-assed teleporter, and the third back there. We've since put our differences aside but the… it's still there. It's hard to forgive myself even if they've both forgiven me."

"We all have our grievances, Musujime-san. We've all done wrong. Clinging to the past, to old hatreds and old ways is merely detrimental, it does nothing for one's present life. If I had clung to beliefs outdated, you and I wouldn't have shared that truly pleasurable moment. Your lips are beyond lovely."

With an affirmative nod of her head, Kumokawa Seria leaned back in her own seat, as she began to bounce her sock-clad foot up and down. Seria closed her eyes, and then produced a soft, drawn-out coo.

"Tell me something, Musujime-san. Has there ever been something, or a series of things that you regret?"

"Who doesn't have those?"

"A good point…"

Awaki shrugged her shoulders, and sighed.

"For me, even if that brat of a half-assed teleporter pisses me off… I regret hurting her. I regret it a lot. You know what I did to her?"

"The exact details? No, Musujime-san. Perhaps it would be good for you if you were to talk about it."

"I could've killed her. I piled… all this junk on top of her. I looked down on her like she was a lesser person than me."

Musujime Awaki didn't seem content to speak of the issue any further. She ceased her explanation and tilted her head, looking to Kumokawa Seria, who peered back at her with a soft, sympathetic expression.

"My own wrongdoings aren't physical in nature. Rather, they're more psychological."

"Like how Kumokawa-san?"

"Much scheming, plotting, manipulating and conniving, using those around me as if they were little more than pawns at my disposal, all in the name of some bigger picture I myself barely understood. I still don't rightly understand it.

"In a time before our present, I would've attempted to hoard Touma-kun for myself, simply because that would've been what I wished for, even if he wished to lead a polygamous lifestyle. I would have hurt and stabbed at those around him, alienating and playing his friends and colleagues against one another."

"It's okay."

Musujime Awaki's awkward, scratchy vocalizations caught Kumokawa Seria off guard, though she didn't lower her poker face, even a bit. Maintaining a sense of civility and stability was hardly something to be regretful of.

"Like you said and like I said, people do stupid things when they're desperate… heh. Kinda just realized I never answered your question-thingy. Regarding your proposal, why not? This is just what I'm looking for, something different, something I don't know about. It's something to distance me from the boredom. That's partly why I decided to tag along when Kamijou offered me the chance… but I'm not game for fucking anyone, that's where I draw the line."

Awaki leaned in a tad closer, lips curling upwards into a crooked half-grin.

"All this sappy talk makes me want to have a good, wholesome makeout session. You wouldn't mind if I borrowed Kamijou before we got started? Sheesh, it's probably not a good thing that something taboo like this is exciting me. We crossed paths the other day, and, to be honest, I've been wanting to mess his hair for a while. That confidence though, it gets me going."

Kumokawa Seria nodded.

"Understandable, Musujime-san… his confidence does the same for me. This isn't a scenario in which I seek to monogamously exist with him. It would hardly be fair to keep him all to myself for two days in a row, though… I do look forward to our next monogamous date. Just make sure to return my little kohai to me once you're finished, and… if I might make a suggestion?"

"Shoot."

"My little kohai Touma-kun has some fetishes for the… lower portion of the female anatomy. Tease him with your legs, he'll enjoy that very much. Only if you're comfortable of course, it's little more than a suggestion after all."

"I'll be sure to keep that in mind… bedrooms are upstairs, right? Sheesh, this jet is like some sort of luxury cruise liner."

"Right. I was thinking of heading that way myself… might I accompany you, Musujime-san?"

Musujime Awaki extended her hand outwards, offering the extremity to Kumokawa Seria. The Move Point user placed her available hand on her hip, tilting her head to one side.

Just as Kumokawa Seria reached out to Musujime Awaki, the latter reeled her own arm back.

"Nope! Eheheh. Gotcha. Heh… if I'm going to be doing things differently than usual, I might as well go all the way... but not right now."

Kumokawa Seria found herself giggling aloud, as she began walking side by side with the girl she hardly knew, the Move Point user, a potential level five candidate.

She, Awaki, was so much more than a mere statistic.

* * *

Musujime Awaki's comparing of the private jet to a luxury cruise liner hadn't been entirely inaccurate. In fact, they'd hardly been inaccurate at all, at least in terms of the jet's interior spaces.

Of the jet's three levels, the third and lowest was like something from the bowels of the Titanic herself. It resembled a lavish restaurant more than it did something that should've been found aboard a private jet.

Then again, the private jet in question had been produced within the walls of Academy City, and by the hands of an esper no less.

Wandering about the lower level's winding halls, walking as a group of three were Accelerator, the silent but observant Etzali, and Kamijou Touma, who was denying anger, frustration and resentment left and right as they attempted to enter his converted higher mind. Misaka Worst was no longer present amongst them, much to Accelerator's outward relief, and to his inward disappointment. She had left her boyfriend's side to seek out a place in which slumber could comfortably be reached, which was on the first and highest level of the jet's interior.

Their conversation began anew.

"I still don't fucking get why you're playing right into their hands, hero… sorry for getting pissed at you earlier. Didn't mean to yell. Been holding in a lot of shit that I should be hurling at that bitch Worst."

Kamijou Touma shrugged nonchalantly, both in response to the semi rhetorical inquiry and to Accelerator's apology.

"Uh huh, whatever."

" _It wasn't right."_

Etzali found himself incapable of holding back; he threw his head back and laughed, his jaw nearly coming unhinged, so far had it drooped downwards.

"Keep laughing, you mask-wearing fuck. I'll tear it off and beat you to fucking death with it."

" _Murderer."_

Etzali placed himself between the number one strongest esper and the Imagine Breaker's former Bearer. Setting either of his arms around their shoulders, Etzali tilted his head from one side and then to the other.

"You sound grumpy Accelerator-chan. Time to go crawl into bed with your loving partner. I think you need your cuddle time to improve your mood, and you, Kamijou, you're grumpier than usual, too."

"Do you want to fucking die?"

Touma came to a halt, causing both Accelerator and Etzali to forcibly stop themselves mid-stride. From within the interior of the jet, Kamijou Touma peered through a circular window, a tiny portal which offered a glimpse into the outside world.

Almost.

Mostly, Kamijou Touma could only see cloud coverage, great, fluffy and mixed with hues of grey and dull white, with speckles of cotton-like white that could be seen dotting the coverage. Additionally, the clouds of the coverage were of many shapes and sizes, some seemingly of different 'styles' than others. Some were elongated, others were amorphous blobs.

"Accelerator, there was a reason why I did it. Maybe you'd understand it."

"Yeah, no shit."

"Why did I do it? It's pretty simple. I couldn't lie to Musujime."

"Typical hero…"

" _Twelve thousand lives lost. He didn't care, he could've stopped it."_

Kamijou Touma shook his head. Accelerator took a step forward. Resting his back against a nearby section of railing, he tilted his head, peering in Touma's direction.

"What the fuck do you mean, "no"? You know better than anyone else that this shit is supposed to stay separate."

"He's not incorrect, Kamijou-san," Etzali chimed in, taking to Touma's other side. He stood more casually, his hands placed into the pocket of his suit pants.

"It's more complicated than that. I can't. I didn't want to and I still don't want to. I'm sick and tired of lying to people and treating everyone like they're helpless little… dolls who can't stand up for themselves. It's not about being some self-righteous paragon of justice, or whatever it was I was always trying to act like, that's completely FUCKED!"

Accelerator moved to place his hand on Kamijou Touma's shoulder, with the intention of patting it, a gesture of friendly solidarity.

Kamijou Touma moved out of the way of the extremity.

"Hero…? You alright?"

Zeeee, nunununuuu.

Ribbons of machine-phase matter danced along the surfaces of Kamijou Touma's nanorobotic body. Accelerator eyed each suspiciously. What sort of power did that hero have? It was obviously related to his right hand, but how?

The number one strongest esper in Academy City had to admit that he hadn't seen anything quite like it.

"Back down! Musujime has the RIGHT to know, Misaka has the RIGHT to know, my senpai, Seria, she has the RIGHT to know. I want everyone who loves and cares for me at my side, as my equals, even if that means crossing a few lines."

" _Kill the Accelerator._

" _Fuck off, would you? I'm trying to… but… you know… that's not entirely inaccurate. He is a murderer. A killer. A psychopath._

" _HIGHMIND TERMINAL:/ SITUATIONAL ANALYSIS UNDERWAY… SUCCESS. ACCELERATOR, NUMBER ONE STRONGEST. CRIMES AGAINST HUMANITY, MASS SLAUGHTERING OF "SISTERS" CLONES."_

The longer that Kamijou Touma looked at the strongest esper in Academy City, the more his hatred welled and boiled; at least, that's what an influx of informational data told him.

If it was to be believed, he was enraged. Disgusted. The longer he looked into the Accelerator's eyes, the more he wanted to strangle the skinny, white-haired joke of an existence, until not even a single breath emerged from his lips.

For a moment, Accelerator simply looked at Kamijou Touma, the Misaka Network's Savior, the boy who'd saved the number one ranked esper from himself. Accelerator looked deeply into Touma's eyes, past the irises and past the pupils.

A chill went down his spine. For a moment, and for only a moment, the number one ranked esper felt truly off-put.

"It's not like I went out of my way to tell Musujime, she stumbled upon it herself. I wasn't going to conveniently lie to her face and have her unprepared. What if a magician went after her? She wouldn't have known a damn thing!"

"I get that, hero. Don't be so fucking defensive. Third fucking time you're repeated that shit."

Zeeee, nunununuuu.

More ribbons danced across Touma's body, and Etzali took notice. His eyelids narrowed as he observed the strange, anomalous-seeming movements.

"I do agree that this… what these "Taured" people are doing is… questionable… I'm not sympathizing."

Accelerator merely clicked his tongue, and spat a wad of saliva down upon the carpeted, Dark Matter flooring.

"It's fine. I don't give a shit, I'm going to fucking bulldoze these imbeciles one way or another. We kill the motherfuckers spreading the pamphlets, and that's it, we go the fuck home. I figured I was going to get involved one way or another, there was a reason that corpse, Horton, was constantly babbling to us, GROUP, about it. I guess you just skipped the middleman, hero. I would've preferred to keep the investigation within Academy City, but… what the fuck ever."

"Don't blame me, there," Touma remarked. "Put that one on Tsuchimikado. One of his… employers… is the one organizing this mission, that's how I got dragged in."

"Fucking figures."

Etzali yawned loudly, breaking the rather somber mood. Touma found himself chuckling, while Accelerator clicked his tongue in aggravation, closing either of his eyes as he tapped the railing behind him.

"The night calls, ladies. Well, you two continue bonding, while I… tend to other matters. Someone's got to deliver Misaka to a more suitable sleeping space, after all."

"I don't think she'd appreciate being touched while she's asleep. Try it, and I'll break your wrists."

"The hero burnt you."

" _Stop trying to act friendly with me, you albino freak. I should slit your goddamn throat right here."_

Etzali shrugged either of his shoulders as he began to take his leave, one dress shoe clacking against the carpeted flooring after another. His strides were confident and long, like those of some aristocrat striding throughout the halls of their personal estate.

"I see you're still keeping your promise… that was a test, Kamijou-san. You passed, congratulations."

Touma shook his head, as he immediately began to calm down, his lips curling upwards, into a grin. Though he had no heart, and, therefore, no pulse, Kamijou Touma imagined that if he had possessed a heart, it would've been racing.

"Look, I'm glad you're watching out for her too, but she doesn't need to be watched over like a child. Misaka's a tough one, she can take care of herself."

"Hmm."

As Etzali made his way down one of many twisting halls, then turning a corner and departing from sight, Accelerator began to walk in the opposite direction, his hands stuffed into either of his pants pockets.

"I guess it doesn't matter now, does it? We're all here, it doesn't fucking matter. This shit was inevitable. I'm grabbing some shuteye. You should do the same, unless you're suddenly a fan of crippling fatigue."

"Yeah, I'll do that. Even if the situation's… less than great."

"Right. If I'm going to be pissed at anyone, it's that fucking pervert and his agent buddies. Authorized this shit. They're not doing their part to keep magic and science separate either. Bastards."

Like Etzali before him, Accelerator turned a corner and departed from sight, leaving Kamijou Touma alone in the lowest level of the Gladio-ordered private jet.

There it was, again. The feeling of being observed.

Shrugging the sensation off, Kamijou Touma soon too took his leave, seeking out the nearest staircase leading out from the bowels of the expansive Dark Matter construct. Unlike both the number one strongest esper and the Aztec magician, however, Touma was not opposed by physical obstructions such as walls, which he simply phased through, like some sort of ethereal spirit made manifest in the physical plane, shifting the density of his form as he pleased.

The jet's lower level didn't hold him for long. Kamijou Touma ended up choosing to simply phase into the upper level, passing through the section of flooring which separated the lower and center levels of the jet. Halfway through the flooring, Touma looked from left to right, to ensure that he wouldn't be 'caught' in the act by those who weren't privy to the truth.

Seeing only the slumbering, hunched over forms of Misaka Mikoto and the former Magic God Othinus, Touma pushed himself through, like a bodybuilder performing some sort of intense regimen of physical exercise.

Once he'd pulled himself through the flooring separating the lower and central levels of the jet's interior, Touma brushed himself off, like he'd dirtied himself in some way.

Taking one final look around, to make positively sure that his anomalous mode of travel hadn't been observed, Kamijou Touma sought out the staircase leading upwards; soon, the central floor of the jet was left behind, as the Imagine Breaker's former Bearer ascended. The staircase produced no sound at all in reaction to Touma's footfalls. Such, Touma could only assume, was the strangeness of surfaces born of Dark Matter.

On the third and highest level of the almost absurdly thick, rectangular and multi-winged private jet Kamijou Touma soon found himself.

Surprisingly, even a section of the jet which was supposedly designed to hold mere sleeping quarters had attention paid to its details. Touma had stepped from the staircase and into something that vaguely resembled a hotel lobby. While it was simplistic, it had plenty of attention paid to its finer details, as if paradoxically.

There were numerous, ornate tables, which looked to be carved from wood, though Touma could only assume that these, too, were produced from Dark Matter. Surrounding each was a small, ornate stool, with a simple backrest made up of many intercrossed beams, like a web weaved by a spider. The ceilings and walls were decorated with reproductions of famous artworks – the Mona Lisa, the Annunciation, and the Benois Madonna were among them.

Additionally, the lower sections of the walls were lined with bookshelves, most of which had at least a dozen books lining their individual shelves.

This was where Index was found.

Kneeling before a nearby bookshelf, Index has spread out several the texts around her, their pages flipped open, seemingly at random.

Seated in a chair nearby, facing Kamijou Touma was Kumokawa Seria, who apparently had been caught up in a book of her own. It was placed upon her right knee, her right leg crossed elegantly over her left. Seria held one of the pages upwards, just about to flip the page over so that she could begin reading the text that was presumably printed upon the next. On the table adjacent to the chair in which Seria was seated, there was a small, metallic mug.

"Index? Seria?"

The little silver-haired nun turned her gaze to Touma. She offered him a wave, either of her eyes blinking in unison.

"Hi, Touma! You're up late!"

She looked like she needed to drop into a bed and catch more than a few zees. Large, darkened bags were below either of the nun's eyes, covering her lower eyelids, like globs of paint laid down upon her by a deranged artist.

Seria didn't look to be in much better shape. She blinked rapidly, offering her kohai a wide and genuine smile. She folded the top of the page she'd been reading from, and then closed the book gently. Rising from her seat, Seria stretched and produced a series of soft groans.

"What're the chances of seeing you here, my little kohai? I'd intended to get myself to bed, however… it seems that Index-san has stumbled upon a treasure trove."

Like she'd stumbled upon some lost artifact hidden within a long-forgotten temple, Index held up one of many books spread around her form. Closing the text, the little silver-haired nun wagged the book from one side to the other.

"Touma, Touma!" Index excitedly called out, even though she looked completely and utterly exhausted. "This one is called "On the Origin of Species"! This Charles Darwin person must be really smart, there's a lot of complicated stuff in here!"

"Darwin, huh?" Touma inquired, rhetorically, as he approached the kneeling form of Index.

Kumokawa Seria couldn't help but experience some sort of strange feeling in her stomach as her little kohai took to the nun's side. His arms went around her, and upon her forehead Touma placed a gentle, affectionate kiss.

Seria's lips curled upwards, into a smile, without her body's explicit commands.

Perhaps it was only because her body required rest, but the beginnings of tears formed in the corners of her eyes; not because she was sad, and not because she was angry.

They formed because the sight was simply beautiful.

This adorable little nun, Kamijou Touma loved her so very much. It was clear as day to see that.

"Did the Church ever tell you anything about evolution? We learn about evolution all the time in Komoe-sensei's class," Touma remarked, as his embrace around Index's shoulders tightened.

"No, Touma!" Index exclaimed, excitedly. "The Church's doctrine teaches that God created Adam and then Eve, and that they were the first human beings to ever exist, which took place hundreds of thousands of years ago, but there are people who believe that the Earth is only a few thousand years old, even though there's an overwhelming amount of data to suggest that this isn't the case."

Touma shook his head. Who was he to challenge Index's worldview? Perhaps she'd come to accept evolution, or perhaps she'd stick with what she'd grown up with knowing.

Then, Index spoke as she set the book down.

"Tou-ma."

"Index?"

The little silver-haired nun nuzzled him. She moved herself as close to him as she possibly could.

"No matter what happens Touma, I want to be right here with you! We'll do this together. We'll keep these people from crossing the lines like how they are, and then we'll put everything back to normal. Together! I want to do everything with you, I want to be with you forever and ever Touma."

Kamijou Touma's embrace tightened, and he turned Index's face towards his own, holding her chin up with tip of his thumb for a moment before his arm fell back at his side. Index tilted her head to one side, and then nearly attempted to scurry away as Touma leaned in.

He didn't kiss her on the lips, however. Touma kissed Index on the cheek, icy, coppery lips lingering there for a while before they parted. Index shivered, her entire face having turned to a bright shade of pink. Traces of machine-phase matter, which had dripped from the corners of Touma's eyes soon found their way back to their main mass, from where they'd come.

"Together, Index. I'm not leavin' you, ever. I'm always coming back, forget it, there's no way I could ever leave you. It's great to have you here. It's great to not be trying to do this crazy thing on my own. You, Othi-chan…"

Touma looked back to the smiling form of Seria, who dabbed at the corners of her own eyes with the sleeve of her flannel top.

He nodded in her direction, and then tilted his head forwards.

It was a silent invitation. Seria pointed at herself, shrugging either of her shoulders, her warm smile never fading. In response, Touma nodded once more, smiling back at her.

Seria made her way to the kneeling for of Index, and the form of Kamijou Touma who embraced her. Slowly, the almost overtired Kumokawa Seria knelt behind the both, and put her arms around her kohai's shoulders, embracing him tightly. Seria placed the side of her face to the back of Kamijou Touma's head, and produced a soft, contented sigh.

To her surprise, there was a tap on her arm.

"No hug?" Index softly inquired, sounding disappointed.

Seria found herself suddenly giggling, even as tears finally unleashed began to drip down from eyes, and along her cheeks. They dropped downwards, passing her lips by on their journey down and eventually completely away from her face.

"A-ah, Index-san."

"Are you okay Seria?! Why are you crying! You can tell me! As a sister, it's my duty to look out for those who are downtrodden, just as much as those who've strayed from God's Light!"

"There's nothing wrong, not here, Index-san," Seria remarked. She took a deep breath, steadying herself.

"I'm… simply feeling quite emotionally-charged this evening. I can only assume this is due to the fact that my body is quite tired."

Seria then took both Index and Kamijou Touma into her arms, wrapping them around both parties, taking them into a hug of equality.

"I like you," Index stated flatly. "You're really nice, Seria."

Seria found herself unable to reply. Her throat was perpetually tightening; if she attempted to produce a vocalization, she likely would've squawked out something weak, which more than likely would've ended in a pathetic-sounding sob. Seria felt no resentment, no anger, no disappointment.

Seria felt more at home, more welcome, more appreciated and loved than she'd ever felt before. For too long she'd stood in the shadows, alone, with only cold calculations to accompany her. This world of acceptance, appreciation, laughter and friendship had opened itself up to her, and she'd walked into it. The gates had closed behind her.

Truthfully, Seria realized that she was in the midst of experiencing an epiphany.

Then, with the arm of Kumokawa Seria around her, and with Kamijou Touma embracing her so tightly, the little nun's eyelids fluttered. Her own arms began to fall away from Touma's upper torso, which they had been wrapped around.

Still held safely in Touma's arms, Index lost consciousness as sleep finally claimed her. Her lips puckered, and her heartrate slowed to a crawl.

Looking down at her face, Touma truly observed her. He observed her soft skin, smooth like silk. Her facial features, like the texture of her skin were soft.

"Seria? It's okay to let it out. I'm not here to judge, better out than in."

And so, she did. Seria allowed herself to spill out some, but not quite all the emotional force that'd built up inside of her. It was discharged like acid leaking out from within the dying cell of a battery.

Seria rested her face against her kohai's shoulder as she allowed herself to experience the epiphany that'd come over her, washing over her like a tidal wave.

Finally, after a while, Seria managed to produce and vocalize actual words.

"T-thank you, Touma-kun."

"For?"

"For helping me to open my own eyes to the truth, about what living truly is."

"Is that really how you feel?"

"Yes, my little kohai. It may seem overdramatic, given that I've only just met your housemates, and yet… Index-san, and the "Magic God", she who you call "Othi-chan", they've treated me as an equal and as a friend. They have showed me the kind of friendship I'd long sought to experience, but never could, due to the position in which I'd placed myself, one of… callousness."

Seria rose, wiping at either of her eyes with her flannel top's sleeves. Gently, she pressed her lips to the back of Touma's head, either of her cheeks glowing a bright shade of pink.

"My conversations with "Othi-chan" this evening were some of the most enlightening and enjoyable conversations I've truly ever had, we… we discussed things I'd never even considered. I feel like my mind itself has been opened."

"Heh… Othi-chan has that effect on people."

"Spending the late morning and afternoon hours with you, even as they were interrupted by something sinister, something which has seen us here, on this… very queer-looking plane, were some of the best of my entire life, Touma-kun. I'm glad to be here, with you. I'm glad that I no longer must watch from afar as you throw your life in harm's way, my precious little kohai. Like Index-san remarked, we work together now. Thank you for letting me in, Touma-kun… thank you so much."

Touma rose, with Index held in his arms, like a bride on her wedding day. Balancing Index's neck against his arm for the maximum possible comfort, Seria rose with her kohai, shrugging either of her shoulders as she softly cleared her throat.

"I'm just happy that I can, Seria. I'm just happy that I realized I don't have to do everything on my own, that all the people who love and care for me are down to help me out."

Touma took a step forward, and then another.

As he walked, Kumokawa Seria remained at his side, striding next to him as an equal. He welcomed her, kissing her lips before both began to travel down the hall which lead out from the lobby-like room, and into something of a crossroads; there were two halls, one on either side of the duo, with a slumbering Index in tow.

Within these halls, many doorways, with closed, ornate doors were present. Appearing to have been carved from wood, these doors were decorated with many odd-looking symbols, and trimmed with what appeared to be a dull shade of gold.

The closest to Kumokawa Seria and Kamijou Touma was easily opened, its knob turned, which allowed what laid beyond to be accessed.

What laid beyond was a simplistic, cabin-like room, with only the most basic of necessities, such as a bed, a nightstand, a small, single seat and carpeted flooring; both Kamijou Touma and Kumokawa Seria accurately assumed that all the items within were constructed of Dark Matter.

Sooner than later, Index was tucked into the sheets of the bed, her head propped up beneath two thick pillows.

To Touma's surprise, there was a lightswitch mounted upon the wall nearest the doorway, which functioned normally.

Just what was the second strongest esper's Dark Matter capable of? Perhaps it wasn't powered by Dark Matter at all, but, rather, powered by traditional electrical wiring.

Curious, Touma sent forth a microscopic, nanorobotic scout, which after decreasing its density, phased through a nearby section of walling in search of something that wasn't constructed of the unknown Dark Matter.

Seria flicked the lightswitch off, and pulled the covers up further, ensuring that even Index's neck was covered.

Then, taking Kamijou Touma's hand into her own, Seria tilted her head to one side and offered her kohai a warm, genuine smile before she began gently leading him out of the room, closing the door to Index's cabin-like room behind her.

"Would you still oblige me, my little kohai? Would you still snuggle with me this night? Humor me."

"How am I going to say no? I'm not about to turn an offer like that down, Seria."


	25. Growth and Development

Together, Kumokawa Seria and Kamijou Touma had ended up picking out one of many cabin-like rooms on the private jet's highest level. The massive, multileveled and multi-winged construct soared through the skies, its destination being a small airstrip just outside of Bristol.

Innocuous wasn't a word that could've been used by anyone to describe the construct, that, undoubtedly, even to those who'd never before seen one, was something dreamed up in one of Academy City's many laboratories.

There were others in the sky, both passenger and cargo jets, most if not all of which were manned.

They paled in comparison to the airborne titan of a machine that looked as if it shouldn't have been able to achieve liftoff in the first place.

Tsuchimikado Motoharu and the jet's other manual operators were aware of the destination in question, at least. No one else aboard knew where the jet's destination was, exactly. All aboard had merely been informed that their journey across the bodies of water separating Japan from the United Kingdom would end 'near London'. For all the passengers knew, the jet could land in some field, or on a golf course, or atop Buckingham Palace; Queen Elizard of England would've likely found that to be particularly amusing.

There might've been frustrations, protests or grunts if everyone on board wasn't completely used to the sort of secrecy surrounding the likes of Tsuchimikado Motoharu, and, by extension, his ilk.

Casting their doubts aside, Seria and Touma quietly opened the door to the room, which had only very recently come to stand tall before them; it made not even a singular sound as it was pushed on its hinges. Presumably created from the Dark Matter passively generated by the second ranked esper in Academy City, this fact was therefore not a source of surprise for either.

Like Index's cabin-room, the space singled out by Touma and Seria was simplistic, containing only the most basic of necessities; what was important, particularly for an utterly exhausted Kumokawa Seria was the presence of a bed, which she soon fell onto, not even bothering to tuck herself in; Seria didn't even attempt to pull herself upwards, towards the bed's numerous pillows.

Her eyelids fluttered, even as Touma's senpai managed to just barely roll herself onto her back. She reached out for a moment before her vision faded, and, carried downward by the grasp of gravity, her arm fell to the bed. It touched down upon the cool, soft sheets, and in the span of some few seconds, Kumokawa Seria was deep in slumber.

Zeeee, nunununuuu.

Kamijou Touma's 'day attire' was nowhere to be found.

His nanorobotic form had shifted and swam, and the previous set of attire had vanished from sight. His previous outfit was replaced with something simpler; a baby blue button-up top, with matching pants to accent the article of clothing. Basic white socks adorned his feet, though, these were merely for aesthetic purposes.

Clambering up onto the bed, Kamijou Touma looked down at Kumokawa Seria's sleeping form. Less than a minute into her slumber, and his senpai was snoring quietly.

Her facial expression could only be described as one of peace, a complete lack of concern for the world outside of her subconscious' endless dreamscapes.

Without hesitation, and with only a shrug of his shoulders, Kamijou Touma found himself crawling up beside his senpai; he took her waist into his arms and rested his head against the soft, almost natural-feeling sheets, close to Seria's own head; for a moment, until influxes of data informed him otherwise, Touma presumed the sheets to have been made up of anything other than Dark Matter.

Kamijou Touma took Kumokawa Seria's left hand into his right and interlocked his fingers with her own.

A perfect fit; his senpai moved unconsciously, rolling onto her side. Her lips found themselves pressed against the side of her kohai's head.

Kamijou Touma needed no sleep. He instead, he simply looked up at the ceiling above him, listening to nothing in particular; if the jet had innards, they certainly weren't producing any sort of noise.

The feeling of being watched yet remained. Instead of concern, however, Kamijou Touma simply allowed it to be, and accepted the fact that something unseen was observing his actions.

In fact, someone must've been sleeping in a cabin-room not too far from the space Kumokawa Seria had unceremoniously chosen to fall asleep in, as their snores could be heard. Perhaps they belonged to Index? Kamijou Touma could only speculate.

Then, Touma heard vocalizations.

"Worst! You goddamn cunt! Get the fuck off me!"

"Misaka just wants to cuddle. Take Misaka's affections."

"Beat it! Go jump out of a window, or some shit! Just fuck off. I'm trying to fucking sleep."

"Oh? Tou-san wants Misaka to jerk him off, here of all places? Misaka didn't know tou-san was an exhibitionist."

"Shut up."

* * *

February 10th, 2004. PM. 10:59 AM.

By dim candlelight, there was a gathering of strange souls.

They had come together beneath an innocuous hovel, abandoned and unkempt, covered with many cobwebs and with many more instances of its brickwork having fallen out, shingles from its roofing having fell to the grounds below where they'd come to rest.

It was one among many within an entirely abandoned and forlorn settlement, one of few dotting Leso's landscapes.

Some few settlements could be found among the Greek island's rolling foothills and flattened, grassy fieldscapes. The grass rose high, unabated and untouched by the culling hands of man. The wilds reigned supreme where humanity had not come to pillage or rape. Even the monuments to their need for survival were consumed, perpetually, by nature herself.

The pathway leading to this particular hovel, a hovel of interest to those who knew of its truth was heavily damaged, overgrown with unsightly weeds. Many planters surrounding the premises had long since been overgrown with weeds and other ugly shrubs, barely visible beneath the choking vines.

Beneath this worthless hovel, however, was a complex system of underground tunnels, none of which were constructed by human hands.

Ornate in their decoration, the flooring of these tunnels was constructed of many bricks, each a dark shade of gold in coloration. The spacious halls were hardly boxed in; their walls were space far apart, creating something of an underground highway.

Along these walls, many murals and frescos depicted queer scenes indeed. Carvings, accented with exotic paints depicted insectoid-like creatures standing erect, as if at attention. Many legs sprouted from beneath them, curled and held together almost respectfully. A set of two antennae jutted from each of heir heads and hung downwards, like the bangs of a human being's hair. Their elongated, thick shells appeared to be their 'version' of arms. Each of these insectoids depicted in the ornate carvings lacked mouths of any sort.

These walls too were constructed of ornate bricks, brightly decorated, glowing exotically beneath the synthetic light beamed down from the high ceilings. Some beams of these lights were obstructed by hanging weeds and dangling, ornate chains.

There was no source of electricity present, manmade or otherwise; merely magic at work.

Deep within the bowels of the sprawling subterranean complex, those relevant to a certain meeting had gathered; the assembly took place there.

Within the welcoming stone and brickwork halls of the dimly lit Gobbling Guzzler, the singular tavern located within this independent, subterranean city-state, the lone human addition to the subterranean complex, a band of misfits had gathered around a circular table, carved not of wood harvested from deceased trees, but brought into the world through the power of magic.

No trees had to be torn to the ground there. No fish had to be ripped from the rivers there. No cattle had to be slaughtered there, no chickens or lambs systematically delivered onto the hands of cruel death squads who would see them to a gruesome, if merciful end.

"It would be of great risk. Their leader is a child, after all, and children are often tempermental in nature. We would work best without their aid. Saint Kaori Kanzaki only knows so much about this… cabal. Still, perhaps, it wouldn't be the worst of ideas… there are matters to consider as always."

The masked being with the echoing voice was no longer masked. It'd tossed away its earthly clothing, revealing what, to outsiders, would've been a queer sight indeed: it was translucent, and, yet, paradoxically, a deep shade of lavender in coloration. At the same time, however, this being was dark, like the shade of a clear night's sky. The sole features that weren't darkened were thin, elongated white slits, which were located where eyes would've been found on a human being's face. In the lower corner of the being's head, there was a wide, toothy and crooked smile. As if it was a heavy object dropped into a fishbowl, the grin had 'fallen' to the bottom of the being's face, lingering to one side.

Ava Stuart, hands clasped and set on the table's surface, leaned forward, her right leg crossed over her left. Her hair was tossed to one side, exposing the right side of her milky neck.

"Kaori Kanzaki will only be able to maintain her façade for so long. The Amakusans will cooperate for as long as we need, but their assistance will be irrelevant if her involvement with outside elements is discovered. We act now or we don't act at all. Laura Stuart has continually refused peaceful negotiations, and has outright provoked our organization."

Great and terrible to those who knew not of him, Spring-Heeled Jack respectfully had his left leg folded over his right knee. Repeatedly bouncing the limb, he seemed nervous."

"Do try not to let rage cloud yer vision, Ava, lass. Our goal is to disarm the Churches of Self harmlessly, do try not ta forget. Unneeded casualties of war are…"

Placed upon the table itself was a potted plant; a queer existence which resembled a flytrap of some sort. Its stalk was thin and elongated, while long, tendril-like vines drooped downwards from multiple points along its spine-like stalk, each tendril covered in many blooming, healthy green leaves. From either side of its blooming 'head', a large, exotic outgrowth had sprouted, and each drooped downwards. Cocking its head, tilting its entire stem to one side, the plant observed the Spring-Heeled one as he spoke his piece.

"Unfortunate."

To those who didn't know it, the sight of a speaking plant would've frightened and appalled some; but those who knew of him knew there was no need for such reactions.

"I doth say, Sir Jack, would thou be so kind as to explain thy reasoning? A Gunpowder Plot-esque rebellion may very well be superior in its meticulous planning; yet an olden-fashioned bout of fisticuffs accomplishes goals with due haste."

Jack nodded his head politely.

"Through their corruption, the Roman Catholic, English Puritan and Russian Orthodox Churches of Self 'ave 'oarded a 'ole lotta power, which none among them would hesitate for even a moment ta muster against us. Through propagation alone have we gotten as far as we have, nonviolent methods. Th' shift of power will fall ta th' people to figure out for 'emselves."

Ava Stuart considered the Jack's words.

There was but one problem.

There was a great chance that "the people" would be gleeful to continue living in ignorance of the true greatness that was magic, lingering just beneath their noses. The entire planet could be saved, humanity could accomplish the grandest of goals if only the people would awaken. The Churches of Self could be cast down, could become ugly blotches in the pages of history books.

Centuries of brainwashing had interesting effects on the uneducated masses.

"Fisticuffs, as Lord Blackthorn has suggested," the shadowy existence with the echoing voice began, "perhaps combined with propagation may be our only option. The Puritans remain divided… a surgical strike, delivered by the hand of Kaori Kanzaki and her "Amakusa-Style Remix of Church", and a rift would be opened. A rift of inner conflict. With luck, the Puritans may very well tear themselves apart. That would be one foe crossed off the list."

Ava Stuart unclasped her hands and sighed. She took a swig from her mug, which contained a mix of a variety of hard liquors, with a touch of a beverage whose alcohol percentage was so high that it likely could've killed a horse. It stung her lips and bit into her tongue. The concoction crucified each of her tastebuds and threatened to wrench Ava's dinner from within her stomach; but she resisted. Either of her hands fell to her stomach, and they began to move gently, upwards and downwards.

Uncertainty wracked the depths of her higher mind once more. Ava Stuart produced a soft sigh of frustration, her fingers curling, nails biting into the palm of her right hand.

"Satoru-kun, discuss this matter with Lord Blackthorn. I must walk on my own."

The Daemoniac existence, the shadowy, perpetually-grinning existence and the talking, sentient plant each looked to their Headmistress with a concerned facial expression; Blackthorn's features seemed to twist and writhe, the only way in which such a physical response could get across.

She immediately noticed this, and offered her companions a reassuring and genuine, if strained smile.

"Don't worry for me, I'm in no position of suffering. I'd prefer to sort my inner thoughts alone, so that they can be better catalogued, understood and recorded for later study and evaluation. I'll be sure to review anything yourself and Lord Blackthorn draw up."

Spring-Heeled Jack rose from his seat. The cobbled flooring of the Gobbling Guzzler trembled beneath him, though he was no larger than any other man.

"Before you depart, Headmistress…"

"Speak freely dearest Jack."

"Are th' "games" continuin'? I would prefer ta return ta th' field o' duty. Nyla's cramped environments, though homey, are… a wee bit uncomfortable, lass."

"I understand your predicament."

While Satoru-kun and the sentient, speaking plant named Lord Blackthorn began a discussion of hushed whispers, Ava Stuart and Spring-Heeled Jack exchanged chuckles. Ava came to rest her soft palm on the top of Jack's own gloved hand; a single, clawed digit of his was large and thick enough to consume nearly the entirety of Ava's extremity.

And yet she knew without a shadow of a doubt that he would never hurt her, or anyone else for that matter. Not unless he was deeply provoked. Not unless hostiles came knocking.

And if they did, not even the Pope himself could halt Spring-Heeled Jack.

Ava looked up to him and she smiled. He and they, all of those who dwelled within Nyla's subterranean depths were so much more than mere subordinates, cogs in a churning machine. They were friends. Family.

"Discuss short-term plans for continued evasive maneuvers with Saint Kaori Kanzaki, should you get the chance, please, dearest Jack."

"As ye command, Headmistress. The Saint of the Far East is a right propere actress. I look forward ta working wit' 'er again. I'll depart, myself, then. Expect my progress report as soon as progress t'is made."

Ava Stuart nodded, giving the silent signal. Spring-Heeled Jack departed from the Gobbling Guzzler, moving as gently as he could possibly manage, given the overwhelming power that flowed throughout him constantly.

Then a sudden shout came.

"Headmistress! Headmistress Ava!"

Ava Stuart turned to face the forms of Satoru-kun and Lord Blackthorn, the latter of whom had taken to supporting himself with his 'mighty' tendril-like vines, waving at his Headmistress with one vine that remained available. He'd lifted himself from within his potter, and moved about freely on the table's surface, dragging his soil-covered, moisturized roots along beyond him. Satoru-kun had leaned forward in an almost conspiratorial manner.

For an immortal being born from the void's womb, Satoru-kun seemed to look oddly threatened.

"Lord Blackthorn accounts our global forces to stand at approximately thirteen thousand," Satoru-kun began.

Ava Stuart posed a query.

"Is this estimation entirely accurate?"

To her query, Lord Blackthorn merely shrugged two of his vines, miming the actions of a human being as best he could.

"Almost, not accounting for those recently lost to these "Angelene Forces"… an unfortunate loss. Just how the Roman Orthodox and their appalling Crusaders even knew of our presence is still unknown to me."

"A direct, full-frontal assault on Vatican City would be an interesting way to gain the full attention of the Roman Orthodox," Satoru-kun remarked.

Ava Stuart shook her head, no. But Satoru wasn't finished. The words he sought to speak weren't completely delivered onto his limited audience.

"Not to mention, a successful siege would settle the score. With Saint Kaori Kanzaki, her minio— I mean, allies, and our dear Jack at the helm, even the Pope would be hard pressed to defend himself. I myself could take one for the team and risk dematerialization at the hands of the Roman Orthodox mutts. True, I've never possessed a Pope before, but… there's a first time for everything."

Blackthorn raised a vine, as if he was raising his index finger.

"Doth thou believe that thou could potentially come to possess the mortal form of the commander of these… "Angelene Forces"? They art, by my own admissions, high-skilled combatants… but possess a singular weakness! Absurd loyalty, hoh!"

Satoru-kun nodded.

"Saint Kaori Kanzaki's insistence that we await an opportune moment strikes me as an attempt to buy time to achieve more… personal ends. She likely continues to cling to the English Puritan Church, as the Amakusans once did."

"Did!" That's precisely the point of importance!"

"Even they have realized the wrongs committed by their once-benefactors. Their Priestess surely must follow suit."

As Lord Blackthorn and the ghostly-seeming Satoru continued to debate amongst themselves, Ava had prepared to take her leave; but there was one other individual who'd come to rest in the Gobbling Guzzler, one other individual whose opinion could be obtained, whose insight could potentially be used.

As always, she wasn't all that far away.

She sat at her own table, her feet casually kicked up, her left ankle crossed over her right. Adorned in something that resembled a simplistic, skin-tight wetsuit, which clung to her hourglass-shaped form and accented her many natural curves, the 'built-in' footwear of the suit ended in simplistic, small heels, which jutted outwards some few inches. Long, feathery hair, dark brown in coloration fell past her shoulders and her neck, her hair's fringe fluffy and swept slightly to the side.

Her soft, hazel eyes fell to the approaching form of Ava Stuart, and the casual girl smiled. She set down her phone, the touchscreen interface of which she'd been poking at before she'd felt Ava Stuart's eyes gaze fall upon her.

Before Ava Stuart spoke, she offered the Sons of Taured's Headmistress her phone, which the Headmistress gently and silently took from her.

There was a news article brought up.

Apparently, the device was connected to the Internet through means of mobile data. On the news source's website, the article's headline was visible, along with a brief blurb below it, a quote 'printed' in text of a smaller size.

" _Breaking: Thousands in Academy City + Japan, Seoul, Canadian, US Cities Take to Protesting: "Hashtags #FREEMAGIC #WARMONGERACADEMYCITY #CROOKEDNECESSARIUS" Used to Promote "Pro-Magic" Movement._

" _This interview doesn't really matter. You're just going to censor our words – but magic is real, and it's being kept from us. I performed a spell using instructions in this pamphlet. We're tired of being lied to, not just about this, because if magic is being hidden from us, who else knows what's real, what's being hidden? We deserve to know, not just the elite."_

She smiled. Ava Stuart genuinely smiled. The wonders of the Internet appeared to have sided with them once more.

"Etsu-chan, dear, could I ask a favor?"

"Ask away, Ava-sensei."

In fact, Ava didn't have to ask anything. Aihana Etsu already knew what had to be done.

The voice of Aihana Etsu was soft, melodic, and yet laced with barely-contained snide. She was waiting for the chance to be useful. Such enthusiasm was something that Ava Stuart could work with, something she'd worked with for some time.

Aihana Etsu reached down to a small contained strapped to her belt. Prying the lid, held in place by Velcro away, a small collection of laminated cards was revealed to be held within. Producing a hand, as if she was about to challenge Ava to a game of poker, Etsu slapped down a total of five rune-dotted cards. Ornate and fanciful, each rune had been drawn lovingly onto the card with what looked like felt tip pen.

"Malefica765 - As the Wicked Witch of the Land seeks to look over her minions in the field, I seek to peer into the works of a faraway land. Let this Wicked Witch peer, please let this Wicked Witch peer."

Within the circular structure formed by the rune cards, a small orb bubbled into existence. Round, but shaky and looking to be made of some liquid substance at first, it soon stabilized. Floating just above the Aihana Etsu's table, the esper-magician hybrid focused, as an image formed in the shaky orb.

Within, the occult market in Academy City could be seen from many angles. Numerous rooms were visible, as if the orb in the table's center was linked to some sort of security feed.

In a manner of speaking, it was. Such a mechanic was no mere coincidence. It had been specifically engineered by the seventh-ranked level five, the esper-magician hybrid, the loyal Sons of Taured operative.

The inner walls of the occult market were dotted with runes carved into their surfaces, identical to those found on Aihana Etsu's laminated cards. The ceilings and the floors were dotted with them as well, though these runes were nearly invisible to the naked eye; they'd been lightly and gently carved into place, closer resembling a patterned sequence than a collection of runes. In a manner of speaking, the spell had forged a network, one born of the caster's will, and of the caster's desire.

Something was most certainly wrong. Aihana Etsu remained calm and collected, though there were telltale signs that her anxiousness was beginning to grow within her. She bounced her foot repeatedly as she observed the anomalous happenings.

Suited G-men agents, likely those associated with the Oculus, or perhaps with that other, even seedier group, Glad… something, were crawling around the place. Into large, plastic containers, they brutishly loaded the many artifacts, simply pushing them from their tables like they were pieces of garbage. To be fair, Etsu had to admit that most _were_ garbage, fakes, forgeries, tools to bamboozle idiots just like them.

They hadn't seemed to discover the runic patterns inscribed upon the structure's surfaces; and even if they did, to cut communication, they'd have to gut and tear down the structure itself.

In the end, the esper-magician hybrid won. She grinned, even as she 'scrolled' through the different 'feeds', by sliding her long, slender fingers over the surface of the orb she'd brought into existence.

"They're onto us, Ava-sensei," Etsu remarked, quite casually. "I don't see Ell. I hope she wasn't captured, or worse… Academy City is ruthless…"

Ava Stuart took a seat next to the high school-aged girl. She leaned forward and tilted her head to one side as she looked into the eyes of Aihana Etsu, which didn't look into her own. They remained focused on the orb she'd brought into existence.

"I don't think they know I'm observing them… eheheh. It's funny, because I could splatter their guts with a flick of my wrist! Cha-ching~! Girl POWER!"

"Etsu-chan," Ava began, attempting to gather Aihana Etsu's attention before she continued to speak. The seventh ranked esper and hybrid magician scrolled further, until she came upon a new feed, a new section of the occult market.

It was one of the structure's rearmost rooms, where supplies were stored.

Seated in a wooden chair, bound with rope and with a face covered in slap marks and scars was Ell, the elderly Operative who'd volunteered to kick-start the operation in that section of Academy City.

An older-looking man, clad in a cheap ready-made suit had stepped momentarily out of view. There was a girl nearby, clad in a pink hooded sweater with athletic shorts, odd antennae rising from the sweater's hood, which found itself pulled over her head.

The older man, face dotted with acne, returned to view wielding a pair of enormous plyers. Ell screamed aloud, begging for her life, yet she would give no secrets to the mongrels.

She'd known the risks. She'd accepted them, fully aware that this could happen, and Etsu knew it. Yet the seventh-ranked level five couldn't help but grit her teeth.

"She's an old lady for crying out loud! Don't torture an old lady, you maniacs! Ava-sensei, I'm going to go to Academy City myself and blow up all of them! I'll slaughter their families like the cows they are!"

Ava Stuart's hand fell to the top of the soft, silky exposed hand of Aihana Etsu, who felt the beginnings of tears – tears of frustration – forming in the corners of her eyes.

The Sons of Taured's Headmistress felt the girl's frustration. Truly, those who oversaw Academy City's internal affairs were deplorable, disgusting human beings.

"Etsu-chan, Ell will survive. Ell will make it back to us in one piece… or maybe not. call it what you'd like, but this is war. In war, there are casualties... Ell knows that her sacrifices are _not_ in vain."

Aihana Etsu resisted the urge to spit. Instead, she ground her teeth as she kicked her legs down. Rising to her full, less-than-imposing height, the five foot five inch tall high school-aged girl allowed her long, luscious hair to flutter as she took to walking away from Ava, her hips unconsciously swaying from side to side; she left the Gobbling Guzzler through a nearby passageway, whose enormous, stone-carved doors she opened with a simple yank from either of her well-muscled arms.

Ava followed, though she didn't intend to travel in the same direction as the seventh-ranked level five. In fact, Ava Stuart had no destination which she'd explicitly intended to wind up in. She would simply wander where her feet took her.

The horrors of fighting against those who preferred a world brainwashed, a world that needed to rise and revolt against tyranny were taking a toll on Ava Stuart's psyche.

Both Lord Blackthorn and the ghost Satoru looked away from the high school-aged girl and their Headmistress, whose true age was completely unknown even to them. Then, they looked to one another and simply shrugged. Satoru chose to carry on from where their previous conversation had left off, rather abruptly.

"I personally believe that striking out against the Roman Orthodoxy is of greater of importance than bickering with the Puritans. Our efforts would be best focused on laying claim to Vatican City, such a bold move would open the eyes of many. A success would open eyes further. Vatican City would, too, offer us a podium in which our message could be broadcast to the world whose eyes have been forcibly shut. I also suggest that we happen to conveniently encounter this "Dawn-Colored Sunlight."

At this, the ever-grinning Satoru nodded in affirmation. The talking houseplant and his fellow tactician's methods were the best that could be chosen, but he _did_ appear to be underestimating the combined strength of Kanzaki Kaori and Spring-Heeled Jack.

Lord Blackthorn merely shook his head, moving it from one side and then to the other by means of shifting his stalk's position. He'd found himself once more in his potter, where he'd come to rest.

"And then what of ye olde Puritans, then? Doth thou know what shalt come to pass if we trifle? Necessarius shalt be there to strike back, even if it is their foe whom we strike at. Necessarius shalt see such acts as provocation. Before I lose track of this thought… could thou be kindly and offer me hydration? My soil shalt grow dry and desolate if I receive none!"

The immortal ghost-being produced a sigh. It wasn't like anyone else was nearby to fetch the glorified garden vegetable some water.

* * *

February 10th, 2004. PM. 12:39 PM.

The London streets below them had been cleared through the use of Kanzaki Kaori's People Clearing runes, hundreds, if not thousands of which had been slapped about on the high rise's exterior walls. The high rise itself had appeared to be mostly abandoned; the only individuals who'd come wandering out were janitorial types and vagrants, walking side by side as they'd been silently and magically compelled.

Kanzaki Kaori and Spring-Heeled Jack, human and anomalous existence stood not as enemies but as believers in the fact that elite corruption, a common enemy needed to fall. Both observed the streets beyond that which had been affected by the Saint's runes, and the streets yet beyond those. London was almost like some sort of ocean of metal and glass, with the occasional runoff of run-down housing estates to be found amongst the metaphorical ocean's currents.

Sheathed in its scabbard, the elongated blade Shichiten Shichiou was pressed against the roofing of the high-rise structure. Occasionally, Kaori would tap the tip of the scabbard against the cobbled roofing, creating soft 'clack' sounds.

She looked to the anomalous existence that stood next to her. He towered over her, and, surely, he could kill her - he could've even killed the likes of Acqua of the Back with few issues -and yet she felt no worry when she was in his presence.

"We'll be back ta our ol' cinema tricks 'fore long, lass."

"Indeed… my efforts to appear surprised? How are they?"

"Fine indeed. Ye coulda bamboozled me right proper. I am… curious about somethin', lass. I've never properly gotten the chance to ask in our few months of knowing one another and it recently did come ta right proper get under me skin."

"Ask, Jack-san."

"Please, lass," the anomalous existence remarked passingly.

Kanzaki Kaori witnessed a look of loathing cross the anomalous existence's face.

"Honorifics don't apply to me kind… I'm not right proper deservin' 'a honor, especially not from someone like yerself. I live only for Headmistress Ava, the woman who saved me from meself. From me cruel nature. Monsters deserve no respect."

"Nonsense."

Kanzaki Kaori shook her head, no. Spring-Heeled Jack looked to her, tilting his hooded head to one side.

"You've proven yourself to be among the kindest and most warm-hearted of those intelligent beings who dwell in this world. Whatever you may be, you're kinder than some of this world's humans. You are no monster."

"Right proper kinda 'a ye. Why do ye work 'gainst those who ye hold dear? When yer talkin' wit' th' Headmistress, ye right proper hold Necessarius… in some high level of regard. Yet, ye work to knock 'em down a peg 'er two."

"Because they are no longer what I once knew."

"Aye. Disillusion, lass?"

"Mhm."

Kanzaki Kaori shuddered for a moment; a cool breeze had passed human and anomalous existence by, like a mysterious stranger in the night.

Clad in her usual outfit of choice, her denim jacket, with only one of its sleeves remaining attached was cast open and unbuttoned, revealing her midriff, as well as her toned, milky naval.

For a moment, Spring-Heeled Jack caught himself ogling the Saint. In response, he jabbed his own clawed finger deep into his cheek, causing a rather small, but noticeable plume of blue flame, more a collection of embers to emerge.

Like an excited child tearing the wrapping of a present on Christmas Morning, beneath the glow of a decorated Christmas tree, Spring-Heeled Jack tore downwards, creating a rift in his own flesh.

Such disgusting acts, such ogling could not go unpunished.

"It is a long and complex tale – yet it returns to two main sources, Jack-san… a tale of three friends, and to a selfless boy who has suffered the weight of an entire world upon his shoulders. A boy who did what the friends of one little girl, with long, beautiful silver hair couldn't do. A boy who… I'd like to see once more. A boy I'd like to become closer to, if such could be permitted by fate."

"They stuck a shiv in yer guts, right proper, then, lass, they betrayed yer friends, s'well, The Golden Witch betrays all whom she comes into contact with. Real slag, 'hat one."

"Good guess… but not quite. It wasn't I who was betrayed. What of that creature beneath Nyla? Its power could be of use to our cause. If we were to turn it against the Vatican City, we would…"

Jack rose, power surging around his body like it was a funnel, one which he inherently channeled.

Swiftly, he cut off the spoken words of Kanzaki Kaori.

"To trifle with one 'a them Old Gods is to court death, lass. It has Its own agenda. Not even I could challenge It and live fer more 'han a few seconds, do try to remember that the Old Gods lay beneath, away from the prying hands and minds of mortalkind fer a reason. There's always an alternative 'hat sorts a right proper madness. An existence as formidable as the Prophet oversees their imprisonment for a reason…"

"The Dawn-Colored Sunlight. Have they been discussed?"

Jack nodded.

"The situation has come ta our favor, in a manner of speaking. If what yer sayin' 'bout the obtaining of some great weapon is true, lass, if what yer sayin' about one 'a yers buried within their ranks, then… they could be steered towards ye. To reason with 'em and compromise may be the key, if their goals are similar enough ta ours."

Kanzaki Kaori looked once more to the horizon. That could potentially be an incredibly risky endeavor. To say that the Saint of the Far East hadn't before encountered the likes of Leivinia Birdway and her pet 'demon hunter', Iosephus Thepes, would be a lie, for she had encountered both.

She remembered the coldness and the callousness of that child; and yet, through some queer circumstances, Kanzaki Kaori had found herself sharing a goal with that same child.

She sought the downfall of everything she'd ever known, the downfall of an oppressive system one which had willingly and knowingly made an utterly innocent girl born with photographic memory a slave to their whims.

They'd all been lied to.

They'd all been played like so many puppets, dangling, tangled in so many strings. They were mere tools in a great game of four-dimensional chess.

It'd all come to an end only because of _him_ , that boy. Kamijou Touma.

Kaori, for one, would be a tool no longer.

From within the pocket of her one-legged denims, she produced a small, low-tech flip phone, something that looked like it'd been produced a decade prior. It lacked even basic functions outside of the simplest of functionalities, such as outer or inner cameras.

But it did allow for the exchanging of text and vocal messages, and that was more than enough. Sometimes, a simple cellular phone could beat out the use of short, or even long-rated telepathic communication runes.

Flipping the device open, Kaori gazed down at the tiny screen, on the flip phone's upper half. Cheap and flimsy, a text message was displayed on the ugly, smudged screen.

" _nearing Blenheim Palace atm. Tsuchimikado choosing not to respond so I suppose ill take my orders from you. prepare yourself because birdway is itching for a fight. Whats our next move? not a lot of time to discuss or plan."_

The text message was shown to Jack, who carefully took the electronic device into his clawed, gloved hands. Within his covered palms, the flip phone looked more like some sort of tiny trinket, or a pint-sized piece of chocolate, given the coloration of its brown-colored exterior.

"Right proper gots ta say, I feel less than comfortable passin' 'round teacups with this "Leivinia Birdway" personally, fer reasons that should be obvious," the anomalous existence elaborated, gently and cautiously offering the flip phone to its owner.

"I do hope ye understand me concern, lass. Bein' torn to ribbons by the power of an… Aughsbak… really don't feel good! This "Iosephus Thepes" hunts and slaughters folk like meself like game in th' forest, a good deed, in and of itself, each of 'em deserve to be brought ta th' chopping block, for they are without mercy, without so much as a singular redeemin' trait, right proper, but…"

Kanzaki Kaori merely nodded, a sympathetic facial expression forming over her features. She produced a sigh as she stepped towards the edge of the high-rise structure's roofing. She peered downwards, fearless, as only the smallest of instinctual panic throbbed within her stomach.

It was a long way down. The concrete and brickwork jungle below seemed to reach out to the Saint of the Far East.

"Say no more. It would be selfish and disconcertingly foolish of me to suggest that you accompany the Amakusa. While Saint Lessar will connect with Kamijou Touma and those within his fold, the Amakusa will meet the Dawn-Colored Sunlight in kind, and propose… what has been suggested."

"Ye seem conflicted, lass. Tell ol' Uncle Jack what's on yer mind, then."

"For long the English Puritan Church was nearly all I knew. To turn against them, despite the actions of its 0th Parish's Archbishop feels inherently wrong. Yet, ironically, there have been very few times when something, a decision, has felt this right.

"We stand in solidarity, the Sons of Taured and we, the Amakusa. Though controversial as all change can be, the time of a bloated and self-indulgent elite has come to an end. We will exchange words with the Dawn-Colored Sunlight, and, if all goes well…"

Though Kaori's elaboration, her speech, an impressive thing in the eyes of Spring-Heeled Jack seemed to have cut itself short, fading into obscurity like an outdated fashion trend.

"Yer worryin' bout that mate o' yers, th' boy. On me honor, right proper, no 'arm is fidda come to 'em. Quite the opposite… I'll be followin' the group as best I can, until we might 'appen ta conveniently cross paths."

Patting his chest, where a small, partially-torn paper emblem was placed, taped onto his exposed breast, the Spring-Heeled one tilted his head to one side.

"I can presume yer mate, "Lessar" 'ill remain in touch?"

To this, Kanzaki Kaori nodded, before she offered a verbal response.

"There are those among them loyal to the bloated and self-serving establishment, loyal to their paymasters and loyal to the one whom you refer to as "the Golden Witch," Kaori retorted, rather cryptically.

"One in particular. I always had my suspicions, but it's in this time that he has proved himself to truly be a foe of all that's just… a shame. I cared for him, despite his flaws."

With a plan set in motion, or, perhaps more accurately, a plan within a plan, possibly yet within another plan, there were few words left to exchange. Spring-Heeled Jack offered Kanzaki Kaori a polite bow, one which she returned, before he leapt into the sky with a single bounding jump, in which he soon soared. Rising, higher and higher, the Spring-Heeled one swiftly vanished from sight.

Kaori took a step off the edge of the high-rise's roof, and she freefell. Her thoughts turned to the innocent, smiling face of a certain silver-haired nun. The resolve of the Far Eastern Saint was hardened as some of the words uttered by Index throughout the months and the years passed through her higher mind.

Hopefully, that boy Kamijou Touma and those who associated with him could come to see the truth for what it truly was.

Hopefully, they could open their minds and accept the underdog as being the party who truly had the best of intentions, for all involved.

* * *

February 10th, 2004. 1:34 PM.

Kamijou Touma hadn't slept a wink. That wasn't a problem, given the fact that his new, superior body didn't require it.

But it did allow for Touma to witness the occurrence of an interesting phenomenon take place around him.

Throughout the hours of the night, it seemed that almost every female on board the private, Gladio-owned and operated jet had made their way to the lodging he and Kumokawa Seria had laid claim to, like so many soldiers marching off to a battlefield.

Perhaps, though, at least in the present, a battlefield would've been a bad comparison.

Clinging to either side of Kamijou Touma's torso were Misaka Mikoto and the little silver-haired nun Index, the latter of whom had squeezed herself between Touma and his still-sleeping senpai. Having come to fall into the depths of slumber atop his chest was Musujime Awaki. The former Magic God, Othinus seemed to be absent, as was Misaka Worst, who Touma could only assume had remained at Accelerator's side. That made enough sense.

An influx of incoming data informed the Imagine Breaker's former Bearer that he had numerous decisions, proverbial pathways which could be metaphorically strolled down.

He could awaken all the girls who'd come to surround him with a sudden shout, or he could awaken them one by one. Alternatively, he could phase through every one of them by breaking his nanorobotic body down into a loose, non-cohesive collection of units; he could've, but, he wouldn't've. There was no explicit need to do so. Given who he was, given the nature of his very life, Kamijou Touma saw no wrong.

Moreover, as for the matter of timekeeping, there didn't seem to be a clock or any other mode of timekeeping to be found within the cabin-like room.

As if she'd sensed his converted mind's considerations, atop him, Musujime Awaki seemed to stir. She shook from one side to the other, a shiver travelling down her slim and luscious form, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. Her head unconsciously moved upwards, as her eyelids slid open.

Her eyes and the eyes of Kamijou Touma locked, their gazes focused, exchanging perpetually.

She seemed to accept the position she'd found herself in. Grinning up at Kamijou Touma, she pressed her index finger and thumb together, then flicked the nearby head of Misaka Mikoto.

A small current of electricity surged outwards, jumping in the air as Mikoto unconsciously grumbled to herself. She rocked from one side and then to the other before she groaned, and stretched her arms and legs.

Then, she took a swift breath. She'd quickly come to realize the position she'd found herself in. At the Railgun's evident discomfort, Musujime Awaki produced a small, brief throat-laugh, a sharp sound which resembled that of someone violently blow air from their lungs, lips vibrating.

"You…!"

"Messing with you is too easy."

Before a potential squabble could break out, Kamijou Touma quickly took control of the situation.

"Look, let's take a glance at this thing logically. This is something that's happened, there's not much anyone can do about it. Everyone involved can either depart or embrace this thing, right?"

"You don't see me running off, do you, he~ro?" Awaki rhetorically inquired. "You are a bit chilly though… might want to do something about that.

"Nobody's bound to anything, nobody's forcing anyone else to stay like this. Misaka, I'm sure Musujime meant nothing by it, being messed with is a part of life."

"Bu…"

Misaka Mikoto found her words stopping in their tracks, coming to a grinding halt as Kamijou Touma interjected, apparently not finished with his own statements.

"Misaka, this just gives you the opportunity to get her back, right? It's all in good fun."

Mikoto relented, and produced a sigh. He was right, of course; there she was, almost overreacting. Again. At least she was beginning to catch herself before the thing could happen. At least he was there to help bring her back to reality, to help snap her out of it.

Yes, it could've been a biased emotional response, given the history she shared with the Move Point user, but, that was the past. That'd been put behind them, it wasn't relevant to "the now".

The third-ranked level five found herself giggling as she rose, moving away from the bed which had originally been claimed by only Kamijou Touma and Kumokawa Seria.

"Heh… s-sorry for overreacting there. I guess I was just surprised."

Musujime Awaki too rose, stretching as she began to straddle the torso of the boy who'd offered her the chance to temporarily escape the mind-numbing boredom of 'a normal life'. Though she spoke to Misaka Mikoto, the girl with the auburn hair, styled into long, thin twintails looked down at Kamijou Touma. Her lips had curled upwards, into a vaguely sinister-looking grin.

"It's fine. I'll be expecting something equally mischievous in response."

A domino effect was achieved through the stirring of Musujime Awaki, and then through the subsequent stirring of Misaka Mikoto.

Soon, Index awoke. Red-faced and surprisingly silent, she simply picked herself up and fled from the room with all due haste.

Kamijou Touma, Musujime Awaki and Misaka Mikoto had noticed that a small, crooked grin had been on the little nun's face.

Then, given that Index had accidentally stepped on her lower torso, Kumokawa Seria awoke with a grunt. Shaking her head about, she looked downwards, attempting to discover the source of the uncomfortable sensation that'd roused her from her higher mind's expansive dreamscape. Seria took in her surroundings for a moment before she broke down into a fit of laughter. Something of this sort had already happened. Seria had expected such an incident to take at least a few months to play out.

Funnily enough, she'd seemed to have slept better than she had in the span of literal decades.

"It seems you're popular this morning, my little kohai."

Seria rolled over, and wrapped either of her arms around Touma's torso; or, at least, what part of his torso hadn't been overtaken by Awaki, whom Seria winked at. The Move Point user's confidence seemed to wane for only a moment, before it returned.

"I guess so, huh? I'm a regular socialite," Touma spoke, chuckling softly. "Anyone know where Index went off to?"

Mikoto could only shrug, while Awaki looked from left to right. The little nun had indeed fled the room completely. The door leading into the enclosed space was ajar, and there were no silver-haired nuns visible there.

Awaki turned her gaze back to Touma, whom she continued to straddle.

"Sheesh, Kamijou, you seem to be having a rather subdued reaction. Most guys would freak out if they had cute girls all over them."

"I'm not making any moves without your permission. That'd be whack… but if I said I wasn't down, I'd be lying out of my ass."

"Aweh. My he~ro. Confident AND a gentleman? You're turning out to be quite the prize."

"Isn't he just?" Kumokawa Seria rhetorically inquired, completing her vocalization with a soft giggle. She leaned inwards, embracing the polygamous moment. Seria's soft lips left repeated, affectionate kisses on her kohai's cheeks, as she began to dance the tips of her fingers along his neck.

Misaka Mikoto didn't quite have the nerve to join in. She was less frustrated than she thought she'd be in such a situation; yet there was still something that nagged at her.

Then again, it couldn't be any worse than seeing him lovingly interact with that damn Shokuhou. That was going to be quite the pill to swallow – but swallow it she would.

They'd discussed such matters together, and, when words turned to actions, Misaka Mikoto wasn't about to back down.

"I'm… uh… going to see what's up… downstairs. Get it? Up, but downstairs? It's… different! Eheheh… heh… yeah I'll see myself out."

"Oouuhh, Railgun, you're not offended, are you? Maybe we could further improve our friendship by engaging in some teamwork. Teamwork, as in, working on this handsome hunk of a he~ro underneath me."

Kumokawa Seria was quick to notice the change in demeanor. Was Musujime Awaki experiencing the female equivalent of morning wood? She found herself giggling at her own absurd thoughts, even as she continued to show her affections for her kohai by kissing his body.

In Misaka Mikoto's direction, Kamijou Touma shrugged as best he could. Apparently, he wasn't against the idea.

She wasn't quite that confident, and her own state of arousal – something she hadn't quite come to accept as a thing that was happening – wasn't quite strong enough to compel her to take up pseudo-exhibitionist behavior.

"I think I'll pass… I mean it's cool and everything! Touma and me, we're tight like that, I know what's up with what he's looking for, and he knows what's up with how I feel! In no way am I resentful, and I'm not saying that sarcastically! Seriously! I'm being honest! If I sound even a little bit sarcastic… that's on you! I'm just… not… uh… you know, comfortable with 'that', personally. I like my personal space to be… ahem… spacious! So… um… b-bye?!"

" _Smooth, Mikoto. Very smooth."_

As Misaka Mikoto quickly left the room in a rather awkward rush, Touma looked from Musujime Awaki, and then to Kumokawa Seria. The former grinned at him, a vaguely predatory expression, while the latter smiled warmly.

Misaka Mikoto's odd behavior had been accepted; there was very little to be done.

"So, I have several questions. What sort of spell-slinging craziness are we going to end up walking into? Maybe you could give me a rundown? Sheesh, I'm completely outside the loop. I suppose you'd have to gauge the situation first to know, huh?"

"That's about it," Touma elaborated with a nod of his head. "Until I see what's happening – until Index can let us know what sort of magicians we're going to be dealing with… well, we're in the dark. Once Index knows, we all know."

"We'll be fine, because you've got me~. The lolicon is pretty tough too," Awaki remarked, her head held high, eyelids closed shut. The Move Point user, still straddling Kamijou Touma placed her hands on her hips.

Touma continued to gaze up at the Move Point user.

"Not too sure what the "bad guys" have up their sleeves. So far, we're looking at some crazy-powerful guy named "Spring-heeled Jack", a possible encounter with the Dawn-Colored Sunlight, a cabal – basically a gang of magicians, kind of like a Skill Out faction – lead by a bitchy little girl, and… then there's the issue of these pamphlets all over the place."

"Skill Out?" Both Awaki and Seria inquired as one.

"I used to beat up on those guys all the time," Awaki spoke, seemingly growing even prouder of herself. "To a lesser degree, I still do…"

Seria, on the other hand, seemed to be a bit more cautious. She rose, but not before kissing her kohai on the lips.

"The difference lays in abilities. Skill Out factions are made up of heavily-armed level zeroes, for the most part, while, from what I've gathered from my… talks… with your "co-worker" Tsuchimikado- _san_ , cabals are more akin to a band of rogue espers, on a considerably larger scale."

"Right, Seria," Touma acknowledged, right hand falling naturally upon his senpai's legs; the physical attention she welcomed, as she took her kohai's hand into her own. "Still, you're not wrong about being on the tough side of things, Musujime. It'll be great working with you."

Either of her cheeks erupted into a blush. She couldn't quite voice it, but the compliment was much-appreciated.

"Likewise, I kid about you being a 'he~ro', but your reputation really proceeds you, Kamijou. Don't think that I don't know all of the crazy crap you've gotten up to… this is going to sound a bit weird, but I sort of… idolize you, you know."

"Don't," Touma stated. "The thought is appreciated, but it's important to keep an open mind. I'm not perfect, I can fuck up just like everyone else, Musujime."

Musujime Awaki could understand that sort of stance. She nodded affirmatively, before she slid herself away from Kamijou Touma's torso. Her posterior came to rest opposite the form of Kumokawa Seria's sprawled-out form.

"Good advice, he~ro. If we get the chance, we should go sightseeing together. London's got some pretty sights to… well… see. For now, ciao, handsome~! My stomach calls."

In the blink of an eye, Musujime Awaki had vanished from sight, leaving Kamijou Touma and Kumokawa Seria to their own devices.

Kumokawa Seria took advantage of this by taking Musujime Awaki's place, straddling her kohai as she lowered herself towards him, Seria's eyes locking with Touma's own.

"You often find yourself being dominated by beautiful women, my little kohai. An amusing thing, isn't it?"

"Heh… no denying it. Step on me and call me names."

"That can be arranged… there is something of a more serious nature I'd like to speak with you about, however, but first…"

Kumokawa Seria's lips quickly found themselves connecting with Kamijou Touma's own. The games began there and then.

"Let us clear the air, my little kohai."


	26. Further Growth, Further Development

Munch.

Their lips connected, again, and again, and again. Their lips would occasionally part, only to quickly reconnect once more. Smacking together, repeatedly, Kumokawa Seria and Kamijou Touma tried their best to keep the amount of noise produced to an absolute minimum; gathering even minimal attention wasn't their goal.

Their goal was to enjoy their respective bodies during whatever time they had allocated to them.

Even if Kamijou Touma, her kohai was no longer human in the sense that most would comprehend 'humanity', to Seria, such hardly mattered. He was still her little kohai, and he always would be. He would always be her handsome little gentleman.

And it was for that reason she would take care of his sexual needs. Given that he'd let her into his life, given that she'd come to accept the elements she'd have to adjust to, there was nothing holding her back from finally doing so, after so long.

For this, Kumokawa Seria waited so very long.

They rolled, from one side and to the other, as if they were two great and grotesque beasts fighting against one another, akin to a sight straight out of a kaiju film, Kumokawa Seria and Kamijou Touma physically ravaged one another.

Seria had never been quite so physically pleased. As her kohai's grabbing, grasping hands found their way to her posterior, Seria bit back the desire to release a moan.

"Does that feel good? You like that?"

"I l-love it… here… I've an idea."

Swiftly, and with considerable haste, Kumokawa Seria fled the bed for a moment, only to locate and then flip the lock which was apparently on the door leading out from the cabin-room. It clicked into place, and, with the security it offered, soothing her higher mind's anxious thoughts, Seria returned to Kamijou Touma, who simply observed.

She began to tug on her kohai's legwear, before it pulled itself downwards, coming to rest around its owner's ankles.

Instantaneously, like a balloon pumped full of air, his 'utensil' grew exponentially in size. Watching on, a blush came to adorn Seria's cheeks.

There she was, in a room, alone, with Kamijou Touma, her precious and deeply adored kohai.

There was his selection of legwear, around his ankles.

There was his member, enormous and pulsating, throbbing as if it was physically inviting her to come closer, and there she was, clad in little more than nightwear, with only her undergarments beneath the flannel outfit.

Her confidence wavered for a moment, as Kumokawa Seria peered into Kamijou Touma's eyes. He tilted his head to one side and offered her a smile.

There was the issue of pain.

Seria looked away from her kohai and peered down at the area between her legs. Never before had anything remotely as large as Kamijou Touma's 'utensil' gone anywhere near _that_ part of her body.

Not then. Kumokawa Seria simply wasn't ready. She produced a sigh, and, instead took the 'utensil' into her right hand, fingers wrapping delicately around its thick, pulsating shaft. She rose, leaning inwards as her nose connected with her kohai's own.

Soon, Seria's hand found itself moving upwards and downwards at a steady rate. The fleshy utensil produced soft noises as its foreskin was worked, noises which made lifeblood rush upwards and into Seria's face. Seria could almost feel smoke billowing out from her ears.

"Are you enjoying the handjob I'm providing you with, my little kohai? Is there anything, in particular, that you'd like me to do?"

"It's… fucking amazing. You beat me off better than I can beat myself off. That came out awkwardly, didn't it? You get the point though, right?"

"I do, Touma-kun… etiquette isn't needed here."

Seria's lips connected with those of her kohai. In went the tongue, and soon Kamijou Touma found himself nearly overwhelmed by reports of positive stimuli.

If only he could 'reward' his loving senpai for the affections she offered him.

" _I want to cum all over my senpai's hand, so just let me cum! You piece of junk! Come on, just work! Do as I say! I control you, you don't control me, I'm the one who gives the orders here! Cum! Ejaculate! Expunge! Discharge! Release! Execute cum protocol! Execute ejaculation protocol! Emission! Execute emission protocol! Uh… Insemination? Execute insemination protocol!"_

" _HIGHMIND TERMINAL:/ FORCE PROTOCOL LAUNCH SUBROUTINE. "INSEMINATION" RECOGNIZED SYSTEMS PROTOCOL. LAUNCHING."_

Splat.

"O-oh m-my! Oh my, my, my! Look at it all! A-ah! There's so much! You figured out to cum, my little kohai? Or the equivalent of doing so?"

Kamijou Touma had reached upwards and grabbed a pillow of Dark Matter to stuff over his face, as a roar of pleasure was ripped from the depths of his throat.

The true answer was, no. Though in reality, it was not semen at all but rather, machine-phase matter which had taken the color and physical properties of that bodily fluid, it was close enough to the real thing for both of their tastes.

Like water ejected from the head of a fountain, the machine-phase matter found its way all over Kumokawa Seria's hands, and, further, it had even managed to get itself all over her flannel top. More splattered the side of her face, and even more found is way into Seria's hair.

"Watch the face!… too late."

Despite Kamijou Touma's concerns, Kumokawa Seria seemed ecstatic; as it dripped she giggled aloud. Once more, she continued to work the utensil up and down, even if she'd been physically defiled. It mattered not anyways; soon, the machine-phase matter was pulled back to its main mass, where it vanished from sight as the 'semen' became part of Touma's long-sleeved shirt.

"Do you think you can ejaculate again, Touma-kun?"

"P-probably… just let me try the same command I tried before. We'll see if it works again."

"Take your time~."

While Seria continued to 'stimulate' Touma's manhood, he performed the same series of internal commands he'd performed in the first place, using the keyword 'insemination'.

Once more, Kumokawa Seria looked on in awe; she caught the next 'wave' of machine-phase matter/undercover baby-batter with her bosom, which she grasped onto and purposely placed in the path of the released, gooey liquid.

Seria quickly began to unbutton her flannel top, which she tossed to the side, excitement flowing throughout her just as much as her own body's blood. Tugging at her bra, Seria hastily produced her bosom, which caused the eyelids of the relaxed Kamijou Touma to widen.

"Nice."

At least, that was what an influx of data told him he should think of the lumps of muscle and flesh.

"T-thank you, m-my little kohai. They're all for you right now. I'm going to tend to your physical needs with them, okay? Prepare yourself, and feel free to let me know if you're uncomfortable… please ejaculate all over my breasts, as much as you'd like."

"I'm going to take you up on that."

"This is simply so exciting~! I can finally make my precious little kohai ejaculate as many times as I want~!"

"It's almost like you're enjoying this as much as I am. Seria a best."

"A… best?"

"It's... I'll explain it someday. What I mean to say is that… fuck, am I ever lucky. Every guy in our school would kill to be in this position, and, here I am, being taken care of by a beautiful gir- nah, more like a woman, like you. If this is misfortune, then, hey, misfortune isn't so bad after all!"

Seria's cheeks had grown to be as red as the outer shell of a beet. He, her little kohai, in a moment of intimacy when he easily could've used much more disgusting words, he called her beautiful.

He felt lucky?! He was legitimately grateful. The way he'd spoken those words, the pleased look on his face, it all got to her.

It all caused lifeblood to rush directly into her face, it all caused Kumokawa Seria's heart to beat far quicker than it was supposed to be beating.

"B-beautiful? Thank you, my little kohai… thank you so much. You're so very handsome, so very kind-hearted and understanding, so… confident. That confidence, it makes me wet. The way you hold yourself in a moment of intimacy, when you're surrounded by other women, all of whom are highly attractive… it makes me _wet._ I'd like so very much to copulate with you, but… it would hurt. I'm not one to be fond of pain, yet I want you so very badly, Touma-kun."

Touma nodded his head in understanding, affirmatively.

"You're right, it would hurt, that I can guarantee. Not to mention, you'd be… making a lot of noise."

Seria offered her kohai a wink, as she moved upwards, placing her exceedingly ample bosom near his face.

"Is that confidence or bravado?"

"Confidence. Bravado gets you nowhere, trust me, when Othi-chan and I first managed to 'put it in' all the way, she… heh. She howled like a banshee. I think she might've woken up the whole dormitory."

Giggling, Seria wasn't about to deny that she, too, would likely "howl like a banshee" if her kohai's 'utensil', the entire nine inches of the girthy, throbbing thing were inserted into her, with or without lubricants of both natural and/or manmade formation.

Even if intercourse wasn't available to her, Seria wasn't about to let that get in the way of her unexpected bout of fun; her cleavage could easily double as a vaginal cavity, at least in its usage.

"How about this, would you enjoy it if I provided you with a titjob? I'm no amateur, even if I've never personally experienced or performed anything of this sort in the past, Touma-kun. Pornography really does have its extracurricular uses… I almost can't believe I'm doing this~."

Then, a strange sound rang out. Just as Kamijou Touma's 'utensil' had found its way between either of Kumokawa Seria's exceedingly ample breasts, just as Seria had begun to work the 'utensil' up and down, using her breasts' cleavage as a makeshift vaginal cavity, just as Kamijou Touma bit back a moan of pleasure…

Musujime Awaki appeared.

Having received her 'orders' from her 'superior', a certain sunglasses-wearing boy who'd apparently been too busy to perform his own duties to perform the task he'd dumped upon the Move Point user, she'd returned to the cabin-room, where she'd originally awakened.

To say that she 'regretted' her decision to follow the orders she'd been given would be incorrect.

There were no screams, no bouts of thrashing and no accusations thrown around. There was no squabbling and there were no tears; at least no tears that were born of negative emotions.

Three sets of eyes, six in total locked with one another.

And then, there was laughter.

Kumokawa Seria fell back, covering her bosom with either of her arms as she moved to fetch her upper body's attire. Kamijou Touma pulled his legwear up manually, a strange sensation indeed; it had been long since he'd actually 'dressed' himself.

"SHEESH! You two really are horny people, aren't you? I thought I might've caught you cuddling, but fucking? Really?! Oh well. It's none of my business what people do in private… It's pretty daring, actually. And… if I might be honest…"

Awaki grinned almost malevolently, folding either of her arms beneath her bosom.

"Kamijou, you're _huge._ I had my suspicions, given how confident you are, but, _sheesh_ … I don't think I've seen a dick that big before."

"Thanks…?"

Touma offered the Move Point girl a shrug of his shoulders.

"Sorry, it's just… I don't get complimented on my, uh, size all that often. I don't mean to come off as ungrateful."

Seria seemed to descend further into hysterics; her laughter had become all but silent. Her lips still moved, and tears still dripped from the corners of her eyes, but no laughter was audibly produced. Kumokawa Seria gripped her side as she stumbled forward, her flannel top only half-buttoned. She fell forward, only to be caught in the waiting arms of Kamijou Touma.

"M-my sides! My SIDES! I c-can barely breathe! I-I c-can't believe that this is… happening! I t-think I'm going to b-break one of my l-lung… lungs! This i-is too h-hilarious! T-this is the sort of thing that… happens in a r-raunchy comedy film! Not in real life!"

The absurdity of the situation at hand seemed to get the better of Musujime Awaki, as did Kumokawa Seria's contagious laughter. She soon found her own giggling growing in volume. Sitting herself down at the edge of the bed in order to prevent herself from falling over, the same bed which had arguably seen some interesting things, Awaki crossed her right leg over her left as she rested her chin in her outstretched palm.

"Tsuchimikado sent me to get you two to head down, hit the central level. Apparently, we're going to be landing within the hour. We're supposed to meeting some lady, named… "Lessar"? A magician, something he called a "Saint"? Not too sure what being a "Saint" entails…"

"Lessar?! Really?!"

Kumokawa Seria, still struggling to reign in her laughing fit, looked to her kohai. More than likely, this person would be another girl, or perhaps a woman? One way or another, Seria would have to make a good impression.

She could only hope this "Lessar" was as personable and friendly as the likes of the absolutely precious little Misaka Mikoto and the exceedingly attractive Musujime Awaki, whom Kumokawa Seria, by her own internal admission, had unfinished business with.

"That's right," Awaki responded, shrugging her shoulders. "So, uh… don't wig out, this'll stay between the three of us. Unless you want other people to know, in which case, I'm your girl. I can spread rumors with the best of them."

"My girl", huh? Are you, now, Musujime? I'd like that a lot."

While Kumokawa Seria poked her kohai on the nose with her index finger, as if to tease him, Awaki spun around, crossing her legs as she leaned forward.

"Kamijou."

"You're stunning."

"Thank you, but don't go sending signals you're not going to make good on."

"No worries, and I wouldn't."

What was he even trying to do? Building some kind of harem? That was the obvious answer; all Awaki had to do was look a little bit deeper, past the surface of the situation at hand, and she knew well enough what Kamijou Touma was seeking to accomplish.

Not that there was anything wrong with polygamous relations, so long as everyone involved knew fully what was going on and consented to the proceedings.

Awaki had to admire him for trying, and, to an extent, obviously succeeding. Quite the goal, it was. Awaki had to admire the goal itself; It was different from the norm, the usual. The cripplingly dull 'status quo'.

Being involved in such a thing would certainly be different, and far out of the bounds of her deathly boring 'normal' life. That would certainly spice matters up, indeed. A small grin spread across Musujime Awaki's face, her lips curling upward. There was one thing that was necessary; and that was getting to know Kamijou Touma a tad better.

Awaki was sick of flings. She was sick of "maybe I'll see you again?" and love hotel nightstands with no numbers left behind; even if those liaisons at those love hotels hadn't began or ended with penetration, intimacy had been involved, intimacy which could've, or perhaps should've gone further.

No more. Musujime Awaki would lay down the line; only interesting times could be ahead with such a path taken.

Seria and Touma had taken up conversing while Awaki had drifted into her own thoughts. They'd both managed to rise from the defiled, messed bed. While Touma attempted to fix what he could, there was little in way of maintenance that could truthfully be performed, and, eventually, he simply stopped trying.

With a series of calculations performed within her mind, Awaki waved to the lovebirds and took her own leave, vanishing from sight moments after a sharp, sudden sound had been produced, leaving Kumokawa Seria and Kamijou Touma on their own once more.

Resting either of his arms behind his neck, Touma followed in his senpai's footsteps as she moved towards, and then unlocked the door which lead outwards. Opening the construct, Seria looked from left to right as she stepped out, with Touma not far behind.

"I have a proposal," Seria stated, after some minutes of deliberation. By the time she'd spoken, the two had passed through one of the few halls that separated the two from the staircase which lead downwards.

Touma, lowering either of his arms, took Seria's right hand into his left, physical affection which was no only appreciated, but returned.

Simply holding hands with him brought feelings of ecstasy to the body and mind of Kumokawa Seria.

"Do you?" Touma queried. "I'm listening."

"It's merely a position of logistics," Seria began, uttering the beginnings of her response, "I have no ability of my own and possess only basic firearms, as well as self-defense training. I suppose I could use the advice found within the mysterious pamphlets that plague us to utilize magic, though I'm rather reluctant to do so, truthfully speaking. Where would I even begin?"

"Index could probably teach you something in the way of spells," Touma spoke, raising her available hand to his chin. Curiously, he cupped as it as, together, they turned a corner. "Othi-chan knows plenty about magic too, you could talk to her about it, more. She can't really use it, but she knows a Hell of a lot about it. Her mana pool is "nearly depleted", or so she's told me."

Seria produced a soft, curious "hm".

"While either routes or perhaps both could be possible at a later date," Seria began, "I believe my talents would best be put to use in a tactical and advisory role. I spend most of my days planning, moving units across a great chessboard and acting in an advisory role, after all."

"That's got to be tough. I've come to find it easier to kil- I mean, punch people who piss me off."

"My, my, Touma-kun! That's not very nice of you. It's difficult, but it's my job. I've always possessed greater brains than brawn, and I've always been of the mind that the pen can get more done than the sword. The sword wins battles but the pen can win wars."

Touma and Seria turned another corner and neared the small lobby which they'd met in the night prior. He looked to her, and he smiled as their eyes locked.

Was he ever in love with her. The memories they'd made, the memories they were making, even if those memories were… interesting, to say the absolute least about the situation in which they found themselves, they were together once more. Not only were they reunited at last, but their relationship, one which had and again was close had been 'upgraded'.

Kamijou Touma could fuck the most beautiful girl in his middle-high school, easily one of the most beautiful women in all of Academy City whenever he wanted. More importantly than that, he could love her, and she would love him.

He could let her in. He could let them all in.

Emerging from his thoughts, Touma spoke his reply.

"If that's what you're looking to do on this little outing of ours, then, by all means, we'll figure something out so that you can be in your element… you'll probably end up stuck with the snake, though. He doesn't like involving himself in these things too much. The difference between you two is, while you're crazy smart, and know where you're best going to perform, he's just a coward."

Seria's cheeks turned bright pink in coloration.

"I pride myself on the enlightenment I receive through my intellect, yes… but you're no slouch, my little kohai. To shoulder all you've shouldered, to suffer all you've suffered… it's incredible that you remain stable at all. Most would have cracked."

"I don't crack, senpai. Nothing can break me."

Both soon found themselves descending the staircase which lead to the jet's central level, where, presumably, the other members of the ragtag 'crew' would be waiting. It had been hastily-assembled, and half of the 'crew's' members barely seemed like they wanted to be there, but a crew it was.

A sudden and unexpected ragtag band of hired muscle responding to a series of sudden and unexpected threats, how appropriate. Touma could only quietly chuckle to himself, causing Seria to produce her own giggle.

"As I've said in the recent past… don't fret about Tsuchimikado- _san_. I'll keep a close eye on him. As well, I'll keep him under control. Someone must. It would be irresponsible to allow him to do as he pleases, unabated and unobserved."

Touma nodded affirmatively. He could agree on that. The snake needed an eye on him at all times, and Touma was quite certain that he and Seria weren't the only ones who felt that way. Musujime Awaki didn't seem to be overly fond of the snake either.

On the central level, Seria and Touma came upon their comrades; most of them. While Index and Othinus seemed to be missing from the picture, all other parties were present, save Tsuchimikado Motoharu.

Etzali sat off on his own, seemingly poking away at something to which he looked down, presumably a cellular phone, Accelerator struggled to keep the ravaging hands of Misaka Worst away from him, Misaka Mikoto had taken to napping, given the fact that her head drooped forwards, and Musujime Awaki sat casually in a seat close to the staircase, her right leg crossed elegantly over her left. In her lap, her own smartphone sat. In Touma and Seria's direction, she winked knowingly. Tsuchimikado Motoharu was nowhere to be seen; presumably, he was piloting, or at least overseeing those who piloted the jet.

"Anyone know where Index and Othi… Olivia-chan is?" Touma inquired, looking from his left and then to his right; neither the girl who'd memorized over one hundred thousand Grimoires or the former Magic God were in sight.

"The nun and the blonde brat are downstairs," Accelerator spat, as he used his foot to push Misaka Worst away from him. "Get the fuck off me, you cunt!"

"Tou-san will take Misaka's love, and tou-san will like it."

"I'll throw you out of a fucking window, bitch!"

Musujime Awaki extended her hand, as Touma and Seria approached. She shrugged her shoulders casually as she looked up at the boy, and at the young woman with the exceedingly ample bosom. Evidently, she was among those who'd become used to the antics of Accelerator and those whom he held close.

"Allow me."

For a moment, Awaki grasped Touma's hand in her own, holding it for a few moments longer; then he was gone, teleported to the jet's lower level.

The chill left behind was certainly a bit odd.

Kumokawa Seria soon followed; the latter offered the former a vaguely seductive grin, which caused the former's cheeks to glow a bright shade of pink; then, she too was gone, teleported.

Awaki looked down at her lap, her blush only growing. Getting closer to both Kamijou Touma and his exceedingly attractive friend, Kumokawa Seria was a must; but would rushing things be the wise route to take? Was there a happy medium between 'too fast' and 'not fast enough'?

The feelings swarming within Musujime Awaki told her that she had to crank up the pace, lest she find herself left behind as others would step up to take her place. She'd been given an incredibly convenient situation. She simply needed to take advantage of it.

On the lowest level of the jet, Kamijou Touma and Kumokawa Seria came upon the little silver-haired nun, Index, accompanied by the former Magic God, Othinus.

Both had taken to kneeling before a nearby bookshelf. Once more, several texts had been spread out along the flooring around them. Othinus had a certain text placed in her lap, closed, but clearly not ignored.

"Oi, Index. Othi-chan. What're you two up to?"

The nun looked to the former Magic God, who nodded and then leaned forward. Pressing her lips to Index's right ear, Othinus whispered something inaudible to Kamijou Touma and Kumokawa Seria.

"Do it, nun. Your mind's subconscious will continue to pester your waking mind and your body until you allow your body to have release."

"B-but…"

"Do it."

"Okay. You're right. I'm going to do it. I'm going to get this off of my chest, One-Eye."

"Of course I'm right. Now begone."

She rose, hands at her sides. Index tilted her head to one side.

"Tou-ma."

"Index? Is everything copacetic?"

"Index-san?"

Her footfalls hastened as she approached. Seria raised an eyebrow, while Touma merely looked on, waiting to see what the moment would lead to.

For a moment, he assumed he was going to be bitten; it wouldn't have been entirely out of the ordinary for the little nun to sink her almost unnaturally sharpened fangs into him.

If she decided to begin that nasty habit again, at least he could simply deny the pain, and allow himself to be painlessly used as the little nun's chew toy.

Index's approach continued, her footfalls quickening further. Soon, there would be very little distance to close between them.

But he wasn't bitten.

Tears formed in the corners of her eyes as she silently moved in for the kill.

Index's lips found themselves connecting with those of Kamijou Touma. Either of her hands rose and their palms were placed upon his cheeks.

Seria looked to Othinus, who simply shrugged, as if to say, "I had nothing to do with this". Rather than standing awkwardly about, Seria chose to approach and speak further with Othinus about an unrelated, and yet, paradoxically highly related matter.

It was strange, but her kohai had seemed surprised, initially, when the nun he obviously cared for so deeply had shown him physical affection.

Surprise, however, quickly turned to a facial expression of appreciation, and then to one of ecstasy. That was all that mattered to Kumokawa Seria, in that situation.

Besides, she'd gotten to have her fun. She'd helped her little kohai reach climax and achieve ejaculation not once but twice in the span of some few minutes. Asking for more in such a short span of time would just be selfish. Seria found that her own lips had curled upwards into a sly little smirk.

There were no better means of 'winning'.

Index had only just broken away from her 'keeper'. She panted, her lungs and heart working harder than normal to provide her brain with the oxygen it needed to survive.

"So, is this a special occasion, or…?"

"No Touma. One-Eye told me that I should empty my subconscious of dirty thoughts. She thinks that's why we found ourselves in that very awkward predicament this morning."

Index felt like slapping herself in the face; what a way to start the conversation.

"It wasn't that awkward, I actually enjoyed myself quite a lot. You should've stayed, it's not like anything lewd happened."

"It was awkward for me! Tooouummmaaaaaa! You're too different now! I mean… that's not…"

He frowned, for a moment. Kamijou Touma looked down at the pouting, blushing form of Index, his charge.

It was if the blood that surged within her veins had exponentially increased in its volume and density. Her 'blush' was full-body. Index almost looked sunburned.

Index quickly took notice of the boy's change in demeanor, and she ceased her brattish pouting. Instead, she put either of her hands on his shoulders and tilted her head to one side.

"Touma? Are you okay? I didn't mean to hurt your feelings."

"You didn't," he responded with a soft chuckle. "You did make me consider something, though. I am a bit different than I was before, maybe a bit too pushy even; but I'm a realist, I am now at least."

"A… realist?"

Both Kumokawa Seria and Othinus had ceased their own conversation. Evidently, the conversation that had begun to take place was one of sentiment. It was with this knowledge that Seria quietly whispered a suggest into the ear of the former Magic God, who nodded her head in understanding.

"My kohai," Seria spoke, softly and affectionately, "Olivia-chan" and I will be on the central level, should you need us."

To Seria's statement, Othinus nodded in approval and affirmation.

"Keep it in your pants, Imagine Breaker."

"Hold up. Hugs? Hugs first? Let's all bring it together, you too, Index."

"M-me?"

In the span of a few moments, it happened. Together, a quartet became one. Kumokawa Seria, the former Magic God, Othinus, the little silver-haired nun, Index and Kamijou Touma, the Imagine Breaker's former Bearer had closed the limited distance between one another and had formed something of a huddle.

Then, the first complaint rang out.

"One-Eye! Don't pull my hair! Touma, make her stop!"

"Suffer, oh holy one. Taste my wrath."

"Othi-chan… come on. Behave."

"You may just have to punish me, Imagine Breaker. Wouldn't that just be a shame?"

Seria found herself giggling at the trio's antics. She broke away and placed an affectionate kiss on the back of her kohai's head. After parting from him, she took her leave.

"Should you need me, I'll be associating with Musujime-san and Olivia-chan."

Her grin widened. She knew something the others didn't.

In her higher mind's passing thoughts, the beginnings of a plan were forming. Her deviant thoughts were getting the better of her, and, for the time being, Seria would permit them to go about their business. She would humor them.

Touma kissed Othinus on the lips before she proceeded to take her own leave, following in the footsteps of Kumokawa Seria; on the way towards the nearby staircase, she'd grabbed her Understander's crotch, and winked.

At this, Index quietly fumed.

Her 'keeper' had taken notice, and he wasn't about to let her proverbially ventilate any more steam from within her, nothing more than need be; Touma was almost surprised that he didn't see literal plumes of darkened smoke billowing from her ears, similarly to how smoke was ejected from the stack of a chimney.

Touma gently took to the little nun into his arms, turning the potential moment of frustration into one of intimacy, effectively diffusing the situation in its infancy.

It was an embrace that Index returned, her frustration and disapproval subsiding as her arms found themselves wrapping around Touma's waist.

Being held by him was a nice feeling. It made her heart beat quickly, and it made plenty of lifeblood rush into her face, where it changed the coloration of her cheeks. Index couldn't help but smile as she gently and lovingly nuzzled Touma.

"Index, look. Looking at my situation, it'd be stupid to even consider turning away everyone I care about. Maybe I am a perverted deviant, maybe I do accidentally end up injecting 'lewd thoughts' into your head, but it's not something I'm purposefully trying to do, y'know?"

"Of course you're not Touma. I don't think that at all!"

"I didn't magically command everyone to hop on my crotch like it's "National Fuck This Lowly Kamijou-san Day" or something. Nothing happened between any of us... in that... so there's nothing for you to feel bad about."

"But it was awkward."

"You don't have to 'empty' your subconscious, Index, it's normal to think this way, it's perfectly healthy to think these kinds of thoughts. You might be a sister, but you're also a fifteen-year-old girl, with urges and needs."

Index looked to the flooring beneath either of their feet. Kumokawa Seria's words of wisdom passed through her higher mind's thoughts, and once more, the little silver-haired nun experienced feelings of reverence. Kumokawa Seria, her close friend, and guardian's upperclassman, was so intelligent, so refined, so reasonable and down-to-earth.

Kumokawa Seria was everything that she hadn't been, what she, Index, had found herself wanting to be.

" _Index-san, perhaps I can explain it a little bit better. I've been told that I have a way with words. Touma-kun doesn't seek to be promiscuous or sinful. In his own way, given the circumstances of his life, Touma-kun seeks to provide for you, for us, the sort of love that your faith approves of. Unconditional and unending. I can't claim to know much about the element, but I do know, simply through observing the world through a lens of logic that love tends to consist of matters and elements that aren't easily understood."_

"What Seria said is true, but you need to be careful Touma. What if a girl tries to get into your life in order to try and use you for her own gain? Hm? HM? You wouldn't be able to tell because you'd want to make her happy!"

"That's completely true, good point, Index... I do need to watch out for that."

Index produced a sigh. There was an almost crippling sense of self-awareness that had come with the period of time in which he, Kamijou Touma, had seemingly disappeared from the face of the Earth, and there it was again, rearing its ugly head once more.

All the times she'd bitten him, demanded that he buy her food when he obviously didn't have the money to do so, yelled at him or hit him.

He put up with it.

He recovered from her bites quietly. When he obviously didn't have enough money to feed both of them, Touma had sacrificed, bucked up and fed her on his dime. He'd taken her in and fought for her when most would have turned their heads. He allowed her to live with him without demanding that she work to pay for any kind of expenses.

He gave her everything, and she gave him nothing but proverbially flung metaphorical fecal matter in return. Everything had always been about her, what she wanted, what she needed. Never about him, the boy who'd sacrificed everything to keep her safe and out of the hands of those who would do her harm, never about what he wanted or what he needed.

This wasn't the first time she'd paid heed to these considerations; Index had concluded some time ago that she was a disgusting human being.

To her, it only made sense when she finally attempted to vocalize her thoughts. Touma continued to speak; apparently, he'd been addressing her throughout the entire period she'd spent within her own higher mind.

"Index? Woah, you're going to drown everyone, watch the waterworks! Are you…?"

"I'm horrid. I'm sorry Touma, I'll try to be better to you."

"Waitwhereisthiscomingfromwhyareyoucryingthough?"

"I'm… happy that you want to… love me. Even after everything I've put you through Touma. I'm sorry for being such a horrid person."

"You're not horrid, that's not true. Don't say things like that about yourself. You haven't put me through anything."

"Touma! I exercise my right to free speech and therefore proclaim myself a terrible person."

"C'mon, don't spout that nonsense… please don't cry, Index."

Kamijou Touma's embrace tightened, and he found himself repeatedly kissing the little, silver-haired nun's forehead, almost revering Index's physical form as he whispered soft, affectionate words of encouragement into her ears.

"This again? What did I tell you the last time we had this conversation, huh? Do you remember? That's what friends are for, isn't it? We help each other out. If I had to, I'd still give away every single thing that I own to keep you as my friend, to keep you safe. I _love_ you, Index."

"And it's for that reason that I've been trying to be better to you Touma!"

"You don't treat me poorly, Index."

"Yes! Admit it! I'm going to use this opportunity to start, right now! I'll start by thanking you Touma: thank you for letting us help you! Thank you for not just running off on your own like you used to. I don't want to drift apart from you!"

He loosened his embrace's grip, and soon stepped away, but Kamijou Touma wasn't done. No, he was nowhere near done.

Gently, he took either of the little silver-haired nun's hands into his own. Locking his fingers between the nun's, Touma fell to one knee, almost as if he was about to pop out some sort of diamond-studded band and propose to her.

Even as tears continued to stream down the little nun's face, even as she sniffled, attempting to prevent ribbons of mucus from dripping down from her nostrils, she found herself blushing, and, to a lesser extent, even smiling.

"You don't have to thank me. It's so… so great to have you guys here with me. You, Othi-chan, Seria, Misaka, even if we don't know each other all that well, I'm glad Musujime's here too. Rushing off to punch troublemakers all by yourself tends to get lonely. You know… something interesting happened, too."

"Oh? What was it, Touma?"

"Well, Misaka and I, we saw Kazakiri the other day, for a little bit. She just sort of… popped out of nowhere."

"Oh!" Index exclaimed, excitement pushing back at the negative feelings that had nearly overwhelmed her thoughts. "How is Hyouka?!"

"Good, better than ever by the looks of it," Touma responded with an affirmative nod of his head. "She… she has a boyfriend apparently. I hope he's looking after her right. But that's not important. I didn't think of it at the time… we're a lot alike now, Kazakiri and me."

That frown of Index's returned; if Touma possessed a human heart, it would've sunk within his chest.

"That's not a bad thing, Hyouka is great, and so are you, Touma. Does she… know… too? About what happened to you?"

"Nope. We didn't really talk for that long. Besides, she doesn't need to know. It'll just bother her. Some things are better off left alone, especially if she's seeing someone. The last thing I'd want to do is complicate Kazakiri's relationship."

"One-Eyed made me think."

Index was evidently attempting to steer the course of the conversation elsewhere. Who was Kamijou Touma to try and halt its progression? Touma was along for the ride and rode the proverbial waves of the verbal exchange as best he could.

"About?"

"About us. You and me Touma. She didn't really say anything about us but… she was talking about what you're trying to do. It just made me think. One-Eye seems to like the idea a little bit too much if you ask me. I think you need to be careful Touma."

There wasn't much else to be said between the two. Kamijou Touma merely chose to hold Index close to him, as she managed to get her emotions under control. Her tears soon stopped, and she managed to cease what had been an apparently never-ending flow of mucus from dripping out of her nostrils.

Some time passed, before Touma parted, and then offered the little nun his hand.

"Oi, Index. You ready to come up to the central level? We'll probably be landing soon! Talking to people will help you feel better, too. I'm not the only one you can talk to. You can talk to Misaka, Seria, Musujime seems to be fond of you… even that Etzali isn't a bad guy, really."

Wordlessly, the little nun with the silver hair nodded, and allowed her hand to be taken into Kamijou Touma's own. Gently, he encouraged her to follow behind him as he approached, and then began to ascend the nearby staircase.

Just before the 'transition point' between two levels of the jet was reached, Index wiped either of her eyes with her habit's sleeve, attempting to ensure that no liquid remained behind. Even if there wasn't anything to be ashamed of, given the circumstances, she was going to at least make herself seem presentable.

"Attention, harem members, and gentlemen! This is your captain speaking. We'll be achieving touchdown in approximately twenty-five minutes, I repeat, we'll be achieving touchdown in approximately twenty-five minutes! Get your affairs in order!"

Kamijou Touma cringed. Was that damn snake autistic? Why did he always have to make a complete fool of himself? Why did he always have to blabber on about nonsense all the time?

Upon ascending fully to the central level of the jet's interior, Touma found himself, with Index in tow to be anything but the center of attention.

Accelerator appeared to have taken to napping, while Worst had thrown her arms around his waist, and had cuddled close to him, her own eyes closed as well. Even in what seemed like a state of slumber, a vaguely sinister grin was present upon the clone's facial expression.

Mikoto apparently had awoken, and was exchanging hushed words with Musujime Awaki; at least one of the girls seemed to be having a decent enough of a time, given the fact that she seemed to find herself giggling at one point during their verbal exchange. Misaka Mikoto seemed less amused but smiled as best as she could, nonetheless. Kumokawa Seria and Othinus exchanged words as well, though, they seemed to be considerably more conspiratorial; repeatedly, Othinus would look over her shoulders, before she'd turn her gaze back to her conversational partner.

Kumokawa Seria and Othinus exchanged words as well, though, they seemed to be considerably more conspiratorial; repeatedly, Othinus would look over her shoulders, before she'd turn her gaze back to her conversational partner.

Then, distracting from the observations, a soft vocalization became audible.

"Kamijou-san, Index-san. A word?"

The source of the vocalization was Etzali, who leaned back casually in his seat, nearest the staircase which lead downwards, deeper into the jet's bowels. Clad in his ubiquitous beige dress attire, the Aztec magician had his right leg crossed over his left knee. He raised his hand and offered a wave to the Imagine Breaker's former Bearer, and, by extension, to the 'List of Prohibited Books'.

"Oi," Touma greeted.

"Hi!"

Index's own greeting was considerably more enthusiastic. She forcibly pumped herself up, as she sat herself down two seats away from the Aztec magician, the 'fake' Unabara Mitsuki. Evidently, she sought for her 'keeper' to sit next to her; and that was precisely what he did.

Upon throwing himself back into the seat between the Aztec magician and the girl who'd memorized over one hundred thousand Grimoires, Touma wrapped his arm around the shoulder of the latter, pulling her into an embrace. Cheeks turning bright pink in coloration, Index quietly gasped at first, but soon found herself quietly sinking into, and enjoying the act of affection.

It was nice to be loved.

Etzali leaned forward, uncrossing his right leg and setting his foot down upon the jet's flooring. He tilted his head to one side and offered his hand, stretching his arm outwards, and effectively using it as a means to unintentionally 'pen' Touma in.

"I don't believe we've met."

"We haven't! It's great to meet you, my name is Index. What's yours?"

"Just call me E, for simplicity's sake," the Aztec magician remarked, with a nod of his head. Soon, their hands detached from one another, their handshake having come to an end.

With the physical act of goodwill having come to an end, Etzali looked to Kamijou Touma.

"I'm not sure where we're going to get dragged off to. The spy remarked earlier that we, GROUP, were going to be doing our own thing… Move Point doesn't seem to be on board with it, but I'm sure the Spy will win her over. I'd ask what your relationship with her is, but that's not a subject for me to stick my nose in. What _is_ a subject for me to stick my nose in, however, is the subject of Misaka's well-being."

"Look, Misaka will be fine. She can more than take care of herself, and, besides, we're going to be pulling the weight together."

"An esper, no matter how much they've dabbled, will never know the full extent of those who dwell on the other side of the veil between our worlds."

Kamijou Touma couldn't disagree with that. Neither could Index, who quietly listened on as the conversation between the two played out before her.

"I get that, but it's not like we're going to be running off in our own separate directions. I'm not going to be trying to do everything on my own, that's now what this about. It's never going to be about that ever again."

The Aztec magician nodded, seemingly in approval. In Touma's direction, he shot a small, but rather elongated grin.

"Just make sure you keep that promise of yours Kamijou-san, that's all I can ask of you. It's obvious that she's chosen you. So long as you keep a smile on her face, there won't be any trouble between us. Love her. Care for her. Make her blush, make her smile. Treat her like a princess. But, should you cause her to frown…"

Etzali's grin faltered for only a moment. For the briefest of seconds, it was replaced by an oddly and uncharacteristically somber expression.

"Then, that's when I'll have to intervene."

There were numerous decisions that Kamijou Touma could've made. He could've cursed the Aztec magician for his blatant threat, he could've placed one his own bladed hands to the Aztec magician's neck, or, Hell, he could've struck the Aztec magician down, right there, and right then. He, Kamijou Touma, was something far beyond human.

But Kamijou Touma pursued none of these possible routes. Instead, he merely nodded in affirmation and turned his gaze back to a concerned-looking Index.

"Everything rolling smoothly? You look a bit off. If something's wrong you can tell me, no matter what's going on."

"N-no! I'm fine Touma, don't worry about me."

The little nun awkwardly nuzzled her 'keeper', at first, before the intimate act slowly became more genuine. She kept her own hands to herself but permitted Touma to keep his arms wrapped around her shoulders.

Pressing her form close to his own, his embrace tightened. The little nun experienced a series of shivers, traveling up and down her spine, jumping about her body like there were so many tiny acrobats bouncing, utilizing her skin as a trampoline.

Once, he placed a rapid number of kisses to her forehead; with lifeblood suddenly rushing into her face, hardly for the first time, Index had felt faint.

Yet even still it wasn't a bad feeling.

The remainder of the trip was oddly quiet, by the standards of Kamijou Touma, and by the standards of those who associated with him.

For those below, it must've been quite the sight indeed; an enormous airborne vehicle, one which looked so utterly massive that it was a wonder the thing could achieve liftoff at all.

Like a cross between a cruise ship and a commercial airliner, the thing caught the collective attentions of many throughout the United Kingdom, as it passed over green pastures and grassy fieldscapes, temporarily darkening the land beneath it with the monumental shadow it cast.

It certainly caught the collective attentions of a certain group.

* * *

Adherents of the Amakusa-style Remix of Church, eight in total – eight was even more than necessary, by the standards of their Priestess – witnessed the massive thing's passage.

Stationed at the England-Wales border, these adherents stood, sat, and leaned against a great archway, which was, at the very least, thirty feet in height. Though no border-walls or even simplistic border-fences were present, resulting in the archway standing somewhat awkwardly on its own, its massive size counted.

Its massive size ensured those beneath and around it would be noticed by those whom they sought to catch the respective attentions of.

Over the rolling hills and the expansive fieldscapes, a convoy chugged forward. It had been observed by them for some time.

A trio had taken point, and with a great vigil, they continued to watch on, curious and wary. Kanzaki Kaori, Itsuwa, and Tatemiya Saiji observed, but spoke no words, not even to each other.

Surrounding them were tall, flowing grasslands, almost completely untouched by the hands of humankind, save for widened dirt road that had been laid, which looked to have long ago seen many and much better days.

The convoy's speed increased exponentially. Her hand fell to the hilt of her Shichiten Shichitou. She shifted her position, feeling the solid, hard-packed earth and many pebbles beneath her boots moving about.

Kanzaki Kaori looked back, first to Itsuwa.

Itsuwa nodded in the direction of her Priestess. Her Friulian Spear was present, gripped tightly and held upwards, the weapon's butt pressed against the earth beneath her trainer-clad feet. Her soft pink, and short-sleeved top seemed to flow, buffeted by the light breeze that had for some time pushed against the Amakusans. Clad in a simple, if particularly short pair of shorts, her bare legs too were buffeted by the forceful kisses of the breeze.

Kanzaki Kaori looked back, secondly to Tatemiya Saiji.

The Amakusan Substitute Supreme Pontiff held himself with confidence. As if he knew something that his Priestess didn't, he offered her a smirk.

Leaning against the archway, either of his hands was placed casually in the pockets of his enormous, baggy pants.

Light blue in coloration, the absurdly baggy legwear hung loosely around its owner's waist. Two shirts, one atop the other were, like Saiji's legwear, absurdly baggy. Red beneath and white over red, the second shirt, white atop red was adorned with a crooked, sainted crimson cross. A necklace, bound with mini-fans adorned his neck, while basketball shoes bound with meter-long shoelaces were Saiji's choice of footwear. Strapped to his back was his great and jagged flamberge.

Tatemiya Saiji took a step forward. Drawing his flamberge, he allowed the weapon to hang at his side, its tip touching the earth beneath it, creating a stream of sparks. Forced outwards as if they'd been ejected from the maw of some treasure-hoarding dragon, the sparks were carried on the breeze.

The Amakusan Substitute Supreme Pontiff clicked his tongue.

"They come. What has Rivers-san said about the situation, Priestess?"

For a moment, Kanzaki Kaori produced her simplistic cellular phone from within the pocket of her one-legged denims. Flipping the device open, she gazed down at the text message she'd pinned to the device's home menu, the most recent which she'd received.

"He's more concerned about his own well-being, naturally," Kaori retorted. She produced a soft chuckle, though it hardly lasted for a meaningful amount of time. It was weak and almost sarcastic. "I can hardly blame him. He is in a particularly volatile situation after all…"

"Priestess," Itsuwa spoke up, defensively taking to Kaori's side, Friulian Spear still clutched tightly in hand, "Priestess, perhaps we should try to deal with this situation in a… non-hostile manner? Birdway-chan is merely a child, after all! We couldn't possibly bring harm to a little girl!"

Kaori didn't enjoy the thought either.

"Whether overseen by a child or not, this rogue cabal is dangerous. It will continue to pose a threat to the stability of many important matters if not reigned in. Negotiations are, of course, the first tactic to be employed. You must understand that Leivinia Birdway has proved herself to be anything _but_ negotiable. I will do what I must. The obtaining of this… Soulgrinder is of the utmost importance."

"I get you, Priestess!"

"As always, Itsuwa, my friend."

The convoy were mere meters from the Amakusan human barricade. A collection of SUVs, as dark as the night itself, something out of an overworked mechanic's twisted, stress-induced vision of Four Apocalyptic Horsemen.

The first stopped.

And then the second, and the third.

Soon, the entire convoy had come to a halt. Ten, or perhaps fifteen feet separated the party of shaded vehicles and the human barricade of Amakusans.

Engines rumbled, earthly materials cracked beneath thick vehicle tires.

Pebbles cracked beneath the boots of Kanzaki Kaori, Priestess and Supreme Pontiff of the Amakusa-style Remix of Church. As a sign of goodwill, the Saint of the Far East (perhaps foolishly) removed her scabbarded blade from her side and planted it within the barren, cracked earth. Dust was forced upwards upon impact, forming a series of miniature clouds which hovered around the Saint's feet.

The tinted passenger side window of the 'lead' SUV fell, rolled down with due haste. The vehicle produced a soft, mechanical hum as the window was pulled inwards.

"What is this? What… oh. I remember you! It's just the old lady. Hey, old lady, did you escape from the nursing home? Could you move aside please?"

Kanzaki Kaori gritted her teeth; this wasn't going to be easy, by any stretch of the imagination.


	27. The Coming of Saint Lessar

There was an odd presence about; in response to her body's silent screams, Kanzaki Kaori looked back.

The Amakusan warriors at her back seemed to be feeling its effect as well. Itsuwa had taken a step back, while Tatemiya Saiji merely looked perturbed, a vein in his forehead throbbing rather violently.

Kaori displayed no physicals signs of her spirit's troubles.

The presence, whatever it belonged to, whatever its true nature, it was overwhelming and oppressive, not quite like anything any Amakusan at the Priestess' side had faced before. For a moment, Kaori silently considered the fact that her ribcage might be crushed within her chest. Some great weight pushed down, hellishly, with forceful strength like she'd never before felt.

A blow from Aqua of the Back, as he'd been known then, was like a light tap on he shoulder compared to this.

Before Kanzaki Kaori could even consider voicing a complaint, or even defend herself against the barrage of verbal accusations that'd been thrown her way, the 'lead' SUV's passenger side door opened, and she who hurled insults at the Saint of the Far Eastern stepped out.

Her dress, more akin to a gown than a traditional dress of any sort flowed about her, black and white, like the keys of a grand piano. Darkened, opaque stockings adorned her legs, while her feet were clad in simplistic, yet elegant, heeled slippers, which clacked and clicked against the earth with each individual step she took. Like the hanging leaves of a weeping willow, her soft, fluffy hair bounced at her shoulders. With the utmost confidence, the child-leader strode onwards, her gnarled, wood-carven Wand of Swords and Cups held at her side.

Leivinia Birdway locked eyes with Saint Kanzaki Kaori, who, even at a mere one hundred and seventy centimeters stood well above the twelve-year-old child-leader of the Dawn-Colored Sunlight.

Despite the difference in their height, Leivinia Birdway was not disillusioned.

The driver's side door was pushed open, and the servant stepped out.

Looking upon him caused tremors, forceful torrents of migraine headaches to surge throughout Kaori's skull. Something was most certainly wrong with the picture presented before her; the Saint of the Far East simply needed to get her mind back under her own control, in order to properly assess what it was supposed to be.

Then, Itsuwa vocalized he issue at hand mere moments before Kaori's mind had managed to wrap itself around said issue.

"Yup, that is a _whole_ lot of mana. Um, hey, Priestess…? I'm not feeling so… ahem… well. I think I might need to take a… ahem, ahem… cough. Cough. Leave of… cough. Absence, allergies see."

At the very least, Kaori could appreciated Itsuwa's attempts to lighten the mood.

The sheer volume of mana radiating from the 'demon hunter' before them was incredible. It was never-ending, always flowing and limitless.

"You seem disturbed," Leivinia casually remarked, the 'demon hunter' quietly taking to his leader's side.

"Hardly," Kaori snapped back in response. "We've faced worse, together, as one."

Responding to the Saint's response, Leivinia looked to the 'demon hunter' and silently nodded.

From his back, he pulled down a great, double-bladed weapon, something that looked unwieldy even by the standards of the young woman who casually swung around a sword that was longer than she was tall.

Double-edged, the thing looked more suited to cleaving and shearing the flesh from a target's bones, like two ends of a macabre butcher's knife had been haphazardly strapped to the central, metallic 'focus' bound with a handle.

"Do we have business, old lady? Maybe you'd like a lift back to the nursing home? I don't know why the orderlies have such a hard time keeping you elderly folks in your rooms…"

"Whoa, bring it _back!_ We're going to have break your bullshit down, young lady! You've got some nerve, talking about the Priestess in such ways! I'll have you know that the Priestess is only eighteen years of age! If that's old, then… okay, see, I thought I had something. But I don't. Just shuddup."

In Itsuwa's direction, Leivinia raised an eyebrow.

Saiji took a step forward, fighting back his own urge to turn tail and flee. The oppressive, seemingly endless amounts of mana radiating from within Birdway's pet 'demon hunter' wouldn't keep him from his duties, not in a million years.

Said 'demon hunter' seemed more than willing to answer the challenge in kind.

"You will come no further toward the Dawn-Colored Lady. Another step, and you lot will be no more than stains upon the Earth."

"Thepes, let's be civil. You can't go around beating up on old ladies, after all."

"Hm. Understood, my Lady."

Like an obedient hound, the 'Thepes' subordinate took multiple steps back, returning to the side of the Dawn-Colored Sunlight's child-leader.

Before the situation could possibly derail any further, Kaori spoke her piece. She remained unarmed, as a continued sign of goodwill. Even if Birdway and the subordinate armed themselves, she wouldn't stoop to their level. She would promote a peaceful and civil discussion between factions.

"The Amakusa have been expecting you. We have means of knowing your movements, when you're going to make them, and _how_ you're going to make them. Don't ask how, for you'll receive no answer."

"I hardly expected one."

"I'll cut to "the chase". The Amakusa propose a partnership."

That seemed to strike the child-leader as odd. Leivinia Birdway raised an eyebrow, and tilted her head to one side, an act of both confusion and concern. She quietly clicked her tongue, before she pocketed her Symbolic Weapon.

"What is this, Saint? What sort of ruse is this?"

"There is no ruse. Merely two parties who have a mutual enemy."

As if to mime the action taken by the Dawn-Colored Sunlight's leader, Iosephus Thepes placed his own massive weapon to his back, where it came to hang limply from several sets of leather straps.

The 'demon hunter' spoke his own piece.

"And yet you are English Puritan associates. What purpose would English Puritans find in throwing their lot in with an organization with whom they would never see eye-to-eye?"

"We are not English Puritans."

Leivinia Birdway shrugged her shoulders, looking from one Amakusan to the next. Her eyelids found themselves lowering.

"Huh? Now I've see just about everything… prove it."

"I figured you'd say that. You're nothing if predictable."

"Says the old lady with Alzheimer's disease. Do you even remember who I am? Who you are? Maybe you need someone to fetch your walker. Did you remember to take your meds?"

Kanzaki Kaori would not rise to the bait. Instead, from around her neck she produced a large, silver cross, which hung from an elongated, silver chain. Gripping the chain, the Saint of the Far East pulled the piece of jewellery away from her, somewhat reluctantly.

With force, without the same sort of hesitation she'd exercised in holding the piece of jewellery away from her body, Kaori threw it to the ground.

Beneath the heel of her boot, she ground it into the dust, forcing it to crack, splinter and shatter, the sheer strength of the pressure forced upon it, surging throughout her leg overwhelming the materials used in the jewelry's construction.

"I, Priestess of the Amakusa-style Remix of Church speak for all who attest to the Amakusa-style Remix of Church."

Those who'd stood behind her came to stand at her side. Each nodded, and performed an inverted, reversed Sign of the Cross, perfectly in sync with each other's individual actions.

"I utterly denounce the English Puritan Church, and all it stands for. I utterly denounce Necessarius, the 0th Parish of the English Puritan Church. I utterly denounce the Archbishop of the English Puritan Church. May the crows feast upon her eyes and hope not to become ill as they ingest her poison."

In a world in which symbolism meant everything, Leivinia Birdway could only watch on, amused and curious. Just what had changed? The last time she'd checked, the Amakusans were staunch followers of the haughty bitch with far too much hair.

If the whole thing was a ruse, it was a damn good rouse. Even Leivinia had to proverbially tip her nonexistent hat to the performance.

"Interesting. What is it you seek from us, then? You've stopped us here for a reason other than to show off, I presume? Otherwise, old lady, you're really going to disappoint me."

"Partnership," Itsuwa stated, reaffirming the point her Priestess had originally made. "A partnership between us, Sons of Taured and Dawn-Colored Su…"

"Wait just a moment. Hold your horses."

Leivinia raised her hand to her chin. Curiously, she cupped it, as Iosephus Thepes watched on, silent and vigilant. He and Tatemiya Saiji exchanged cold, calculating glares; a staring contest, a brawl of wit and mental willpower.

"Now, that's something that interests me greatly. "The Sons of Taured" then. Hm. Word is, you lot are troublemakers. If you're truly with them. If they truly exist. I've seen no proof save the funny-looking pamphlets strewn all over the place. What's your goal, then? Former operatives of Necessarius would know better than most that the Sides are to be kept apart from one another… apparently, at least."

"Or as oppressors and mindful, wrathful assailants of the innocent and the defenseless would say."

"Boldly stated, old lady! I think both would work quite well together, hand in hand. A symbiotic relationship. Of course, both Sides would need someone reliable to watch over them. Science and Magic being ruled separately just isn't working, is it? It's just not working at all. The likes of the Roman Catholics and the English Puritans are… boring. They're old! Like you! Out, out, out!"

"We will speak no further of this in public."

Leivinia produced a soft, unapproving groan. She looked back, and up to the form of her subordinate, 'Thepes', who'd taken to leaning casually against the grill of the 'lead' SUV, arms folded across his chest.

"Send these tagalongs off to base," Leivinia commanded. She tugged on the taller, older-seeming man's suit jacket, to ensure that she held his attention. This tactic seemed to work; almost instantaneously, he tilted his head downward.

"You're with me, Thepes."

"As you wish, my Lady."

With a nod of her head, Leivinia released her subordinate's suit jacket, and looked to Kanzaki Kaori, as well as the Amakusans who supported and stood with her.

Not behind her. Strange. They seemed to have developed some sort of unity.

They stood not behind her, but beside her. At Kanzaki Kaori's side, the Amakusans seemed to stand in total solidarity with their Priestess.

An impressive, but altogether weak display.

It was the most tightly-knit of groups that could come apart as soon as a single seam was loosened. At this comparison, Leivinia grinned, placing her right hand on her corresponding hip. She walked forward, heeled, elegant slippers clacking.

"You want to negotiate, old lady? Very well, I'll humor you for now. I know just the place… duly note; if this is an assassination attempt, you're going to have quite the job ahead of you. Few have stood against the Dawn-Colored Lady and lived to tell the tale. Fewer yet have stood before a vampire and lived to tell a similar tale. Coming, Thepes?"

"Quite, my Lady. As you wish."

That explained it all. Itsuwa looked to her Priestess, concerned, and closed the distance between them, as her fellow Amakusans mimed her actions. Tatemiya Saiji immediately broke eye contact with the 'demon hunter'.

"Yup, it figures… she _did_ say what I THINK she said. Didn't she?"

"She did. On your toes… and try not to judge too deeply. We call one whose very existence is difficult to comprehend our ally, after all. He is kind and fair despite the differences between us. The brat appears to have this vampire, if such is the case, under her control."

"Priesteeessss. She's so cute! But she's so mean! How can such an adorable little girl be so mean-spirited?! Ah! I could just snuggle her up, if she wasn't such a little witch."

Kanzaki Kaori couldn't help but smirk at the younger warrior's antics. Even in the direst of situations, Itsuwa seemed to be able to inject a considerable dose of positivity and spunk.

* * *

February 10th, 2004. 4:21 AM.

Nothing seemed to be working.

He had the greatest tools of "information extraction" available to the higher-ups of Academy City at his disposal, and yet, he couldn't get so much as a confession, let alone a detailed explanation from the wrinkled old bitch.

Of course, that was partially due to its own unwillingness to actually use them.

The small, dimly lit back room of one of few highly illegal and highly provocative occult markets was stained not with blood, and not even with sweat. It wasn't literally stained with anything.

But it was proverbially stained with the agonized screams of an elderly woman, bound to a chair with thick, thorny ropes, scavenged from a section of the market which had since been dismantled by other on-duty Oculus operatives.

"I think it's time for another break. Or…"

"Or what?! Do you have a better idea, fourth-string? Please, do tell me! Let me in on your master plan!"

"Let me take over."

"You'll kill her. Forget it. We've talked about this, Hamasaki, get it right out of your head. Tired? Go nap with Karasuma."

"Tempting, but, there's only one girl I'd like to nap with, you'd do well to get that through your head… I'll get answers. The answers you can't seem to get; I don't understand you, you're a bona fide G-man, and yet you can't torture a few answers out of a woman whose tits look like eggs nailed to a plank of plywood? It's no wonder your wife left you, pal-o. Give me the pliers, and I'll run you through 'Torturing One Oh One."

Hamasaki Tsubasa, the fourth strongest esper in Academy City took a step forward. He held his hand outwards, fingers outstretched and palm open.

Even with 'breaks', they'd still been at it for hours. It was becoming less of a thrill and more of a painful grind, a slog through proverbial swamplands that simply didn't seem like it was _ever_ going to end.

"Shit. Shit! Fine! Shit! Take the goddamn pliers, just don't fucking kill her, you fourth-string lunatic."

"Thanks, Horton. Now beat it. I'm sure Fran would like to have a conversational partner outside. Lovely weather, too. Lady Luck and I, we have… some personal business to attend to."

The handing of duties from one Gladio-Oculus Operative to one Gladio Operative took place there and then, with Operative David Horton giving in, sighing in frustration. He looked to the elderly woman, who had slouched forwards in the seat in which she'd been forced. The ropes that held her in place seemed to have cut off circulation to her arms, as the limbs had grown a shade of dark, bruised purple in coloration. She yet lived, and seemed to be conscious. Her quick, shallow breaths were indications of this.

He threw his hands up and unleashed a feral growl. Hamasaki Tsubasa watched on, unfazed by the animalistic display.

As a frustrated, disillusioned and overall disappointed David Horton slammed the door to the back room behind him, stomping off through the almost entirely emptied space where the occult market's wares had once been placed, Hamasaki Tsubasa stepped forward, gripping his borrowed tools of the trade in hand.

Tsubasa neared, and rested his index and middle fingers beneath the elderly woman's chin. Gently, exercising considerable caution, he raised her face, forcing her eyes to lock with his own, as he levelled their respective fields of vision.

"Honey, I'm real sorry this has to happen to you. You don't deserve this, nobody does…"

"I've been through much worse. For me, this is but an average Sunday afternoon… thank y—"

A sudden shout was vocalized, one which rattled the elderly woman's already fractured nerves.

"PSYKE!"

Like a string which had been snapped between the scissors, like a switch was flipped inside of his head, another side of the fourth-ranked level five emerged. Unchained and unleashed, he prepared for controlled chaos, a managed rampage.

Like a woodcutter swinging his hatchet, Hamasaki Tsubasa raised the piece of hardware turned weapon above his head.

It soared, producing a soft 'swoosh' as it parted the oxygenized air that dared to stand in its way.

The makeshift weapon's wielder had turned, his grin wide, his lips rising so high that they seemed like they could suddenly tear away from his face of their own accord. His eyes rolled into the back of his head, and, from his lips, secretions from his salivary glands dripped freely, like plumes of foam dripping from the maw of a rabid dog.

With considerable force, he brought it down upon the elderly woman's right knee.

Solid bone was fractured; she threw her head back, her lower jaw opening so wide that it seemed like it might become unhinged. She uttered a feral scream, like the death-call of a banshee.

Again, and again, he brought the piece of hardware turned tool of torture down.

"Horton's too emotional for this type of work, woman! Fifty-eight-year-old divorcees aren't cut out for this type of shit! I AM! I'll beat you until you're nothing but pulp! A mess of flesh! Do you think I give even the smallest of FUCKS about the likes of YOU?! I kill people like you for a living! You can't out-weird me, nan!"

Her screaming never ceased, not even for a moment, not even as tears poured from the corners of her eyes like the currents of Niagara Falls.

How could a human being so quickly snap? How could a human being so quickly turn and become a monster?

"No hero's going to save you from me! Nan, I KILL heroes! I lay them out! I attend their fucking funerals just to fuck with their grieving loved ones, for fun! I piss on the graves of heroes! You'll talk, or you'll die! THAT'S IT! That's our negotiation! Fuck it! You're not in the mood?! Alright! Fine! Next knee! You'll never walk agaaaaaaain! Neeeeeveeeeeerrrrr agaaaaaiiiiinnnnnnnnn! Not even the Frog-Doctor will be able to fix you! Cunt, cunt, cunt, CUNT! Get your pain meds, nan! Here it comes!"

Like clockwork, it rose again. The makeshift tool of torture was raised over, and then fell behind its wielder's head. This reprieve was brief, but it was something. It was a brief stroke of mercy.

Mercy was ended as the pliers were brought down upon the elderly woman's unmarred knee, quickly marred as the other had been.

Once more, the cracking of bone, accompanied by the trademark tearing of flesh rang out, like a bell signalling that class had begun in some morbid school, where walking corpses roamed.

She screamed aloud, howling like a wounded animal caught in the unforgiving maw of a hunter's trap, and yet she spoke no words of confession, and she admitted nothing.

Evidently, greater measures would have to be taken.

He'd had an entire arsenal at his beck and call, and yet Horton hadn't brought a single tool to his bound victim; instead, he'd apparently thought that threatening to use these tools would harmlessly work the same sort of wonders.

What a deluded old fool.

Hamasaki Tsubasa turned away from the sobbing woman, the soles of his shoes clacking against the flooring. The moveable table was set before him, with its many 'tools of the trade' set about like the utensils a surgeon might utilize to sew his patient back up, after a lengthy operation.

While there were many vaguely advanced-looking tools, such as something that resembled a tagging gun, and another tool which looked awfully like clamps of some description, such things just weren't necessary. Sometimes, one had to look back rather than forward. Sometimes, fixing what wasn't broken was an entirely unnecessary, time and currency-consuming endeavor.

Someone remembered the old ways, at least.

A giggling, shuddering Tsubasa hastily grabbed for a small jerry can, along with a section of thick cloth. Dirtied, smeared with what looked like dried, caked-on lifeblood, rust, and other unknown substances, the fourth-ranked level five gripped the piece of fabric like it was clean and unmarred, something which had only been used to casually wipe down the exterior of a dirtied vehicle.

He set the jerry can down first, carefully placing it on the floor, along with the defiled rag. For a moment, his eyes locked with the crown of the elderly woman's head; she hung forward, limply, though her pitiful whimpers could still be heard, soft and just barely-audible.

He pressed his foot against a leg of the chair, and, with a mighty kick, forced it backwards, with the elderly woman in tow. One sob, louder than the rest that followed was vocalized, followed by a groan, as the back of her head crashed against the floor, causing her neck to bounce upwards, like a child jumping on a trampoline.

"Tap out when you're ready to talk! Oh, wait! You won't be able to! Whoooooooooops! Silly me! Here we go, nan! Into the drink with you! Glub, glub… rub-a-dub-dub…"

The rag was thrown down upon the elderly woman's face, firstly; she coughed and spluttered, but demanded no mercy and spoke nothing of her intentions.

Carefully, Hamasaki Tsubasa pried the lid from the jerry can, ensuring that not even a single droplet of the liquid within was lost. Though his hands awkwardly shook, he paid no mind to his body's awkward shuddering, instead choosing to focus on the task that was a hand.

Then, it came.

He moved around, taking to her side, as if she was a sick patient in a hospital bed; Hamasaki Tsubasa came with no medicine, however. He came only with torment in hand.

With caution, he tipped the jerry can, held in either of his hands forward, watching on as the cool liquid poured out from within, dripping gently, before he tipped it with more force. Something akin to a miniature waterfall began to drip from the jerry can's spout. Water sprayed over the face of the elderly woman, upon which the rag was set.

She may as well have been drowning, for that was precisely the sort of experience which she suffered through. The elderly woman's lungs cried out for air as they were deprived of it. Her nostrils surged, raging, seek any sort of oxygenized air to take in, yet, seemingly, they could take in none at all.

Her arms began to violently quake, first. They shook like those of an epileptic, her fingers shuddering as they clenched and unclenched as best they could.

Then, her legs began to lose feeling; they might as well have been cut off completely. The ropes, bound far too tightly, had nearly severed the detectable connection between the elderly woman's legs and her upper body. Still, even without feeling, they shuddered and vibrated, like humans caught in the tremors of a great quake.

Then, mercy. The flow of water ceased, and the rag was removed from her tear and water-streaked face. Her eyes had rolled into the back of her head, and she could hardly squeak, let alone cry out for help; yet she lived. She still drew breath.

"Are you ready to have a little CHAT, nan?! I'm waiting!"

Smack.

With a mighty backhand, he'd shocked the elderly woman back to reality.

"Did you forget your hearing aids, nan? I said, "are you ready to have a little CHAT?!"

Reluctantly, with tears streaming from the corners of her eyes, she nodded weakly, as if her neck had ceased to function properly; to this, Hamasaki Tsubasa seemed to respond by calming down considerably. He returned the jerry can and the defiled rag back to the moveable table from where he'd retrieved them, and then proceeded to lift the chair in which the elderly woman was bound back up, with considerably more force, and considerably less caution exercised. As she was forcibly tossed forward, the she vomited.

"Oh, for fuck's sake. That's just disgusting. Do that on your own time, decrepit old bitch. Now… I have a question for you. Answer it, or we'll be going back to the drink, you and I. Who, or what, is the "Sons of Taured?"

Vomit yet continued to spew from her mouth, dripping down her lips and down her chin. Even as her eyes had returned from within the back of her head, having rolled downwards, she barely seemed to be lucid at all. She coughed once more, ejecting chunks of bright, yellow vomit from within her mouth.

"W-we…"

"Yes, yes! There we go! Talk! Say something!"

"We follow the Word of Taured."

"And just who is this Taured? C'mon, nan, let's keep it going, we're losing momentum! MOMENTUM! WE ARE LOSING IT! No breaks on the rape train!"

"Prophet."

Hamasaki Tsubasa crouched before the elderly woman's vomit and water-stained form. He looked up at her, his eyes locking with her own. As she grimaced, gagging on nothing, he grinned, a wide, toothy grin.

"A prophet, huh? Alright, so, tell me nan, what does this prophet do? What kind of predictions has this prophet made for our world? End Times? Asteroids? Second Coming? I've heard it all. Reptoids? Is it the reptilians? I have this… friend. A very, very good friend, just thinking about her adorable face, it gets me through these hard times, nan… she's all about the reptilians. Oh, what that sweet, innocent little creature would give for a reptilian invasion. "

"Better world. Balance… balance between… us. Humans. No more conflict, no more… hunger. No more… poverty."

"Uh huh, yeah, keep talking, babe. I'm listening."

Tsubasa rose, and, taking to the elderly woman's side, he casually rested his arm against her shoulder, like she was his best friend, or perhaps a good acquaintance.

"Hey, nan. You lucid? I old you to keep talking. You wanna go back to the drink? I can take you."

"N-no! No, no! No more drink… no more drink…"

"Then be a good girl and tell me more about "the Sons of Taured."

A singular, pained and nervous sob wracked her body before the elderly woman began to gasp. Inhaling oxygenized air, she shuddered, her lips quivering as she struggled to free herself from the ropes that bound her form in place.

There was no way out. Her body lacked the strength, and the ropes were too tightly bound around her.

"Kill me."

"Say what, now?"

"Kill! Me! I'll tell you not another word! You can t-take me to… the drink… as often as you'd like, I'll tell you nothing more! Kill me, kill me, kill me, KILL! ME!"

"Is that your final answer?"

"Yes! Yes, yes, YES! Kill! Me!"

"That can be done, but not just yet. I think there's more in there that I can squeeze out…"

"NO! NO! Greece! Leso! Island! Saint Petersburg! Russia! Academy City! Osaka! Tokyo! Antarctica! Beneath Andorra! Principality! Taured will stop you. Prophet will make the world better, clean, no more suffering."

Her temporary burst of bravado seemed to have abandoned her. The elderly woman began to thrash violently as she struggled, doing her best to attempt an escape from her situation; yet none could be found. With her courage faltered, she'd broke.

Hamasaki Tsubasa raised his available hand to his neck, and softly gripped it, wrapping his fingers around it, and resting his palm against his laryngeal prominence. The fourth-ranked level five produced a soft, curious-sounding "hm".

"Andorra… principality… Spain, right? Guess World Geography isn't as useless as I thought. Thanks, Sakugawa, ya' fuckin' dump… anything more you can tell me about this prophet of yours, nan? Or is that all I'm getting from you?"

The fourth-ranked level five waited a few moments, and received no response. The elderly woman appeared to have become lifeless. Her neck hung forward, eyes staring down at the flooring beneath the chair in which she'd been forced to sit. She vomited once more, violently spewing a mess of chunky, yellow bile from within her mouth. She gagged repeatedly, choking on her own refuse.

"That's horrid… here, I'll see you out. Hang tight, nan."

A series of complex mental calculations were performed by the higher mind of the fourth-ranked level five. His Personal Reality kicked into gear in response.

Sprouting from him, two enormous, shadowy limbs were forced into existence. Colored like the night sky, and yet also dotted with otherworldly plumes of lavender, the elongated limbs each ended in an enormous, clawed extremity.

"You know, nan, if you have any idea about what's happening, down here in Academy City, you'll know about us espers… I, like so many others, I've got a _plan_ … pet project, seeing to it on my downtime. It's a nice plan. I'm working to make myself the top dog. Aspirations! The teachers at school told me I could be anything… level six… maybe this will help me advance, too."

The limbs of void energy reached out, and both palms grasped the old woman's head, setting on either side.

"Don't worry, nan, you're going to become part of something greater. Relax!"

Crrrraaccckkkkk.

Like a twig held in the hands of a curious, if cruel child, the elderly woman's neck snapped, her spine severed by the pressure placed upon it by either hand of voice energy. It bent violently to the side, unnaturally swerving as, for a moment, the spinal cord seemed to hold out, struggling to maintain cohesiveness; but it lost the fight, and was soon severed.

As if it was little more than a hangnail, the elderly woman's head hung limp, dangling to one side, held in place by natural grafts of flesh, tendons, and numerous veins, many of which had also been nearly severed by the forceful bending of the elderly woman's neck.

Horton wasn't going to be happy, but, in the end, Hamasaki Tsubasa had finally gotten the answers. The fourth strongest esper in Academy City found himself breathing a sigh of frustration as he casually kicked the chair over, causing the elderly woman's cadaver to crash against the floor.

If only Horton had let him take the reigns earlier. They could've saved hours of work.

* * *

February 10th, 2004. 3:24 PM.

"Hello, harem members and gentlemen! This is your captain speaking! Engaging landing gear, destination inbound! Hang onto your hats!"

Index turned to face Kamijou Touma, who seemed to be cringing. Leaning forward, either of his arms hung limply between his legs, which were spread apart.

Noticing this, Touma tilted his head, and offered Index a thin, but genuine smile.

"Something up, Index? Everything okay?"

"Touma, Touma. I could ask you the same thing. That face you did was mean-looking. Are you angry about something Touma?"

The nun's 'keeper' nodded his head, yes.

"That snake's pissing me off. All it takes is for me to hear his damn voice. Just hearing it pisses me off, Index. He thinks he's such tough shit, doesn't he? He thinks he's so great. I should throw him out of the fucking plane."

"Touma…"

"Eh?"

"Please don't say things like that. It scares me when you talk in that way, it's not you."

He nodded, affirmatively. He nodded once, before he nodded again, as if to reaffirm the fact that he'd affirmed.

"Sorry. I just don't want to be dishonest with you, that's all. It's how I feel about him. I'm not going out of my way to upset you, I just don't want to tell you something that isn't true."

Index pushed herself closer to Touma once more; she'd found herself physically drifting from him, but soon enough, she'd returned to nuzzling him. Index looked up to Kamijou Touma, her large, colorful irises locking with his own.

As if to reward her, Touma placed a soft kiss to either of her cheeks.

"Love you, Index."

"I l… l-love you too Touma. It's okay, I know he's not very nice to you either, so it's not fair for me to ask that you treat him with the respect he doesn't show you. It scares me when you talk violent like that, that's all. He seems incredibly ungrateful, which doesn't make a whole lot of sense to me! You've done so much for him, and for them too!"

Etzali quietly interjected. He didn't look to either Kamijou Touma or the nun, whom Kamijou seemed to be very fond of.

"If I might intrude…"

In fact, that Kamijou Touma seemed to be fond of a lot of girls. Did Misaka know? Was she in on the fact that he was being flirtatious? That was a delicate subject, one which he'd have to inquire about later. He wasn't about to jump on the subject and make a scene, but, it warranted eventual and further investigation.

"Well, you already sort of did," Touma retorted. "Nothing's stopping you now, man. Is it about the snake? I've heard things in places where I shouldn't have been hanging out in the first place. That you, Accelerator, Musujime, you were all part of some kind of… group? Mercenaries, Dark Side black operation? Word gets around in the wrong parts of town."

"I suppose someone chirped, then," Etzali grumbled, more to himself than to anyone else.

"Figures secrets would only stay secrets for a shortened amount of time. Tsuchimikado's a co-worker of mine, yes. I have no personal love for him, but his methods get results, and, sometimes, results are all that matter. I'm more curious to know about the quarrel between the two of you; I've heard plenty of stories about the legendary "Kami-yan". Until recently, it seems that Tsuchimikado almost revered you."

Touma posed a simple query.

"Any idea what kind of seedy shit he's involved with? Do you know? I don't think that you do, I'm almost certain he wouldn't tell you. He didn't tell me. Maybe, if he did, I wouldn't be as fucking pissed at him. But now, it's all this, and there's no going back. Fuck him."

To the simple query, Etzali offered an equally simple retort.

"No, Kamijou-san and I don't particularly care to know about what Tsuchimikado's been up to, either. Unless we're on a job together, I don't know Tsuchimikado and Tsuchimikado doesn't know me."

"Understandable," Touma muttered, nodding his head in apparent approval. "Watch your back. He'd throw you under a bus in a minute if it suited him."

There was a slight bump, originating from beneath the private jet. He felt rather light, as if the jet had hit something much smaller than itself. As well, there were a series of downward slopes which preceded this bump, though Kamijou Touma didn't experience these firsthand; the brainwave patterns of those who were awake served to alert Touma to the fact that these stimuli were apparently uncomfortable and disconcerting in nature.

Accelerator was the first to jolt back to consciousness. Raising his head, the crimson orbs that sat in the centers of his eyes shifted from left right. He grunted aloud, startling Misaka Mikoto, who unintentionally released a jolt of electricity, which, in turn, caused Musujime Awaki to awkwardly jump in place, and utter a short, half-muted gasp.

His awakening triggered a domino effect; his jolt stirred Misaka Worst from her own slumber. She pushed her bangs away from her eyes before she rose, and immediately began to pester her boyfriend, who merely attempted (and subsequently failed) to push his girlfriend away.

Mikoto looked back, past the form of Accelerator, and to Kamijou Touma, her own eyes' field of vision locking with his dark irises.

Pleadingly, she looked at him, and waved her hand, silently instructing him to come forward.

They mouthed words to one another, their lips moving but producing no audible vocalizations.

" _Misaka? Everything good?"_

" _Come here please? I want to talk to you."_

Kamijou Touma took to standing. He looked to the form of Index, and then to the form of Etzali, who nodded in approval, lips curling upwards into a small grin.

Moving down the isle, exercising caution not to crash into any of his companions and those he didn't quite consider to be companions, Touma observed the tops of the various heads that popped up over the backrests of the central level's many seats. Of all those aboard, the snowy white, tangled and overwhelmingly unkempt hair that belonged to the number one strongest esper caught his eye, in a different way.

Touma looked away, effectively and purposefully avoiding continued eye contact.

Soon, he squeezed himself between Misaka Mikoto and Musujime Awaki, the latter of whom casually crossed her right leg over her left, as if to show off.

"H-hey. Thanks for…"

"No need to thank me, Misaka. What's on your mind? Seems everyone's on edge."

"The whole thing's whack, but it's not keeping me down! Whack is my middle name!" Awaki remarked, with a shrug of her shoulders. "Railgun and I were talking… it's all pretty relevant, because, you know. Him."

"Yeah… him. I'm… I dunno."

Mikoto leaned inwards, her lips nearing Kamijou Touma's ear. No blush presented itself, and she hardly felt flustered. If anything, she'd welcome any sort of physical affection that came her way.

"What don't you know, Touma?"

"I'm all ears, Kamijou."

"I'm having my second thoughts… about letting him get out of district seventeen alive. Maybe I should've put an end to it there, y'know?"

Mikoto leaned forward, folding her arms across her chest. Tilting her head, the Railgun looked to the Savior of the entire Misaka Network, while Awaki simply looked on, staring forward.

"I… I don't know about any of that, but I do know that I don't feel comfortable being anywhere near him. I don't feel like getting chummy with a mass murderer is the sort of thing I want to do."

"He's really not all that bad," Awaki spoke, "but I'm not the one who had thousands of my own clones killed off by him. I'd 'prolly be a little salty too if I was in your shoes."

"That sort of thing speaks volumes, Musujime."

"Yeah, I'm aware. Blame your little teleporter friend for turning me soft. Girl's got a way with words, I'll give her that much…"

While the third-ranked level five esper and the Move Point user continued to softly exchange words between one another, Kamijou Touma quietly considered his options.

" _Accelerator's untouchable by normal means… can't phase through, he'll manipulate the vectors of my resin, probably fuck me up bad. That's not an option. Execute Tactical Protocol._

" _HIGHMIND TERMINAL:/ FORCE PROTOCOL LAUNCH SUBROUTINE. "TACTICAL" RECOGNIZED SYSTEMS PROTOCOL. LAUNCHING. RECOMMENDING COMBAT PROCEDURES BASED ON SITUATIONAL FACTORS, OPPOSING COMBATANT FEATS. OPPOSING COMBATANT: ?/ACCELERATOR_

" _COMBAT PROCEDURES: REVERSAL OF REFLECTION MECHANIC VIA SWIFT WITHDRAWL OF PHYSICAL ASSAULT PRIOR TO IMPACT. CALCULATING LIKELYHOOD OF OPPOSING COMBATANT'S UNTIMELY DEMISE… SUCCESSFULLY CALCULATED. LIKELHOOD OF OPPOSING COMBATANT'S UNTIMELY DEMISE, NINETY-NINE POINT NINE PERCENT._

" _Reversal of Reflection mechanic. I might be able to trick that reflection of his if I fake him out at the last minute… yeah. Heh. Why didn't I think of that before?"_

As Kamijou Touma was 'roused' from his internal calculations and contemplations, by a tap to his shoulder, he noticed the worried look painted upon the otherwise flawless face of Misaka Mikoto.

Gently, his arm found its way around the Railgun's shoulders.

"Everything's good, don't look at me like that."

"Like what?"

"Like _that_."

She leaned inwards, and produced a soft huff. The Railgun allowed herself to receive the affectionate physical attention she'd always craved to receive from that boy.

"Musujime and me, we came up with an idea while you were staring at the wall," Mikoto remarked.

To this, Awaki nodded, silently voicing her solidarity, and affirming her own role in the scheme Mikoto had mentioned.

"Hit me with it," Touma spoke, looking from one girl, and then to the other.

"My associates can go off and do their own thing, whatever weird shit those boys do when I'm not around," Awaki began, arms folding casually behind her head, "so, then, the lolicon is kept away from the Railgun as often as possible. I'm not sticking with them; they're dull, and not attractive. The whole bunch of you are interesting, and hot, especially you, handsome."

"Dull might not be the right word," Touma interjected, to which Awaki found herself chuckling.

"What you've got goin' on, now _that's_ where the excitement is, Kamijou. I mean, I AM welcome, right? Right?! Please don't send me off with them. One's a weird, if… harmless guy, he's actually pretty alright, but the other's a lolicon and the other one wants to diddle his sister! At least you people are half ways normal."

"Of course I'm not," Touma chuckled. "Misaka? We're not going to throw Musujime to the wolves, are we?"

Misaka Mikoto casually folded her right leg over her left knee, and leaned back in her seat.

"I'd always assumed my answer would've been different, but… she's actually pretty cool, and, for an added bonus, she's not a mass-murdering psychopath, so, I can get down with that."

The conversation between Kamijou Touma, Misaka Mikoto and Musujime Awaki would've yet continued onwards; but there was an interrupter. Nearest the northernmost section of the interior walling, a door slid open, and out stepped Tsuchimikado Motoharu.

Kamijou Touma caught a brief, if detailed glimpse of just what laid beyond. There was something which resembled a control deck, almost like something straight out of an old science fiction film, along with an enormous windshield. Several other suited individuals were within the room, scurrying about like so many tiny worker bees bustling about their hive.

"Well, we made it in one piece. Thank your captain later," Tsuchimikado Motoharu announced.

Soon, many sets of doors slid open, as many staircases were lifted upwards from within the jet's flooring, and set down upon the earth beyond and beneath.

Golden, natural light burst in, filling the otherwise dimly-lit and almost dismal halls of the private jet. Fresh, natural air too forced its way in; Misaka Mikoto for one could drink the stuff like booze, if such a thing was possible.

Kumokawa Seria too seemed pleased by this development. She halted her conversation with the former Magic God Othinus to stretch, and moan in pleasure before she took a long, deep breath of the fresh, natural oxygenized air. At the sound of her conversational partner's moaning, Othinus' eyelids seemed to narrow, and a small, toothy grin crept across her face.

"You're free to go," Motoharu began, raising either of his arms into the air, "don't wander off too far, though. For now, "Saint" Lessar will be your guide and help get this thing underway. She'll look after you, while I… uh… tend to some other important matters."

The Backstabbing Blade looked to the passengers of the jet, who were beginning to rise from their seats. Misaka Mikoto stretched, standing up on her toes and wiggling her fingers as she tilted her head from one side, and then to the other.

"E, A, MA, you're with me," he stated casually. "We've got work of our own to do."

To this, Musujime Awaki shook her head, no.

Tsuchimikado Motoharu quietly clicked his tongue in irritation, setting his hands into his pockets.

"I'm sticking with the folks who aren't complete weirdos, thanks. It's why I came here in the first place. Sheesh… you're a bossy guy."

"Because I _am_ your boss," Motoharu remarked. "Need I really remind you of that? You stick with me, Move Point, or I dock your pay. All of it. Take it or leave it."

For a moment, Kamijou Touma began to step forward, carefully maneuvering around the Move Point user; but he was stopped in his tracks by the Railgun, who took his hand into her own, and shook her head, no.

Soon, Index had taken to her 'keeper's' other side. She looked up to him, and tilted her head.

"Tou-ma, Tou-ma. What's wrong now?"

With a kiss to her forehead, he began his attempt to reassure the little nun.

"N-nothing. It's all cool, Index. You ready to get off this plane, see some new-old sights? Let's stretch those legs."

"Yeah! Yeah! Touma!"

As others began to pile out of the jet, Musujime Awai and Tsuchimikado Motoharu continued their standoff. Passing, moving towards the door lead into the room from which the Backstabbing Blade had emerged, Accelerator merely shook his head in disapproval, while Misaka Worst clung to him like a proverbial monkey, literally upon his back. She babbled into his ear, speaking some nonsense about "tea-drinking blimeys", to which Accelerator oddly found himself chuckling. Still, as if to reprimand her, he lightly and harmlessly chopped his girlfriend on the head.

"A lovers' quarrel?" Etzali queried as he passed, moving in the same direction as Accelerator, quite literally following in the latter's footsteps.

"I'd castrate myself before I had anything romantic to do with this perverted siscon," Awaki insisted.

In response to this attack on his fetish, Motoharu merely shrugged his shoulders, unconcerned and unfazed by the Move Point user's harsh words.

"No sister no life."

"See what I mean?! No way! Forget it. Keep your money, I don't need it. City pays me enough."

Turning his back, Tsuchimikado Motoharu casually waved in the Move Point user's direction, as he too stepped confidently towards what must've been the cockpit, given the appearance of the spangling tech that dotted the room beyond the sliding door.

"Your loss, Musujime-chan. Go hang out with Kami-yan, see where he gets you."

"And where, exactly, are you supposed to get me?" Awaki rhetorically inquired. "Maybe, if I stick with you, I'll be a three-bit thug, if I manage to luck out. I'm not going to learn a damn thing from any of you obviously, or you would've told me by now. You could've told me something, anything."

Just before he was about to slide open the door from which he'd originally emerged, he came to a halt, though he did not look back. His eyes, masked by his darkened sunglasses gazed towards the milky-colored door in front of his face.

"Musujime-chan, do you really want to be dragged into Hell?"

She merely raised an eyebrow before she took her leave, silently volunteering to transfer her compatriots' luggage from the level below, with the intent of delivering it beyond the jet's interior, and into the outside world.

To Tsuchimikado Motoharu's words, Musujime Awaki offered no verbal response.

Of all the places a jet could've landed, Kamijou Touma, Index, Misaka Mikoto, and, by extension, Kumokawa Seria as well as the former Magic God Othinus, often referred to simply as "Olivia-chan" had found themselves in an open field.

The fieldscapes, of which there was more than one, were covered in tall, unwieldy grass, displaying proudly the fact that these landscapes hadn't been marred by human hands. Other than the occasional tree jutting up from the earth, tips pointing towards the sky, there was little in the way of obstructions.

Surprising, given England's disagreeable weather patterns, the sun shined brightly above their heads, beaming down its warm rays, bathing them in warmth and cleansing their worries, for a time. The sky itself was clear, bright blue, with not even a single cloud in sight, not even upon the horizon.

Slowly but surely, Musujime Awaki began transferring luggage, from the jet's lower level and into the field, beyond the jet's interior. With each trip, she was offered thanks, and, with each trip her blush deepened.

It felt so very good to be doing something other than killing thugs and rapists, or lamenting the fact that killing thugs and rapists was the only meaningful activity to engage in, within the walls of Academy City.

* * *

"And so, therefore, there was very little that could be done about the entire incident," Othinus spoke, continuing the conversation she and Seria had been holding.

"They lacked the power to even attempt to march against such a foe. As it happened, Guinevere was a pawn, a toy, an aspect of BLIL of which he placed a small amount of his own power. It was an internal conspiracy from the beginning… BLIL's pettiness never ceases to amaze, nor does the duplicity of Mordred. Of all Daemoniac Lords, BLIL is the sole amongst his fellows to meddle in human affairs."

"I must ask," Seria spoke in regards to Othinus' explanation, arms folded beneath her bosom as Touma, Mikoto and Index seemed to aimlessly meander about, likely in search of "Saint Lessar", "You've told me that one cannot speak the names of these so-called "Daemoniac Lords", yet, you've neglected to provide me with a reason as to why this is the case."

"A good question, to speak their names is to symbolically offer yourself, body and soul, up to them," Othinus stated firmly.

"There is no force greater. BLIL himself has killed the Archangel Gabriel thousands, if not millions of times, and, for all we know, BLIL may have even killed the One True God, through my own divinations as a Majin I learned of this, though, the death of the One True God may be temporary; Yahweh is capable of nigh-infinite cosmic self-regeneration."

Seria shuddered, for a moment. As if she was offering her sympathizes, Othinus patted her new companion on the shoulder, affectionately.

"Killing… a god? _The_ God? "Cosmic self-regeneration"? I've never thought of such things. I feel very… small."

"Nor should you for any meaningful length of time. It would not be below BLIL, in strength or in concept. We, as mortals, even Majin, each of who were once mortals, myself included, mortal, god, and mortal once more cannot even begin to comprehend them. They're outside our knowledge, and, therefore, outside our scope of power. For me to speak BLIL's true name would be to give myself to him fully. One may think it, but not speak it. Symbolism, as you seem to know, is very important. It is in fact a key element of all magic."

"And, in that case," Seria began, putting the pieces together on her own, "Daemoniac magic", as you've called it, is essentially the result of these "Daemoniac Lords" passively generating power, which, then, is harnessed by mortals. Similar in concept to an AIM Field emitted by an esper."

"I know little other than what is scattered about in metaphorical, mental heaps of practical information about the nature of esper abilities," Othinus admitted, with only a slight amount of reluctance detectable in her soft voice, "but, yes, you've got the concept down-pat. Impressive, you already understand in mere hours what many would only understand after days of study. Daemoniac magic is passively generated by Daemoniac Lords and echoes throughout the cosmos. It can be wielded, but not truly understood for it is beyond us. To attempt to understand it would break one's mind; many of those whom refer to themselves as "demon hunters" have tried and failed. I…"

There was a sudden loud, shrill, and almost wince-inducing vocalization, one which rang aloud and interrupted the conversation which Othinus and Kumokawa Seria shared.

"LOOOOVVVVEEERRRRR BOOOOOOYYYYYYY~! Where aaaaarrreeeeee yyoooouuuuuuuu? Lessar-mama has plenty of surprises in STORE, all for YOOOOUUUUU!"


	28. Departures

Living God Abraxas' Domain.

Yundas 10th, 2004. 100:24,00. [Approximate date, based on Japan Earth's calendar: February 10th, 2004, 3:24 PM.]

The one who had bested Magic Gods looked down, seemingly absently at the glowing, illuminated, pure white existence he'd clasped in one of his colossal, gauntleted hands. Seated upon his gleaming, metallic, glowing throne within his stronghold on planet Saturn's weaponized, hollowed-out moon, Triton, Abraxas focused his mental efforts upon it, paying little attention to the happenings within his throne-city below.

 _Something_ was rising from within. _Something_ sought release. A force to be reckoned with. One that was worth parlaying with, even for some few moments.

The Mad Tritonian did not impede the release of that which apparently sought freedom.

"You seek an audience with Abraxas? Come, then. Show yourself. Your efforts to hide from me are in vain, as will be your efforts to bring me low, should they come to pass; and I believe they shall."

 _Something_ emerged. Welcomed into the world, that glowing, pure white existence clutched in the Mad Tritonian's hand burst open, screeching, emanating bursts of light in all directions. It appeared vaguely human-shaped as it fell out from the shuddering existence. With each passing moment it grew, expanded, its entire body convulsing as it screamed in what sounded like a feral, animalistic challenge.

It was naked. It lacked identifiably human genitalia; it lacked nipples upon its toned pecs.

As it formed, its pure white body settling into a perfectly human shape, the limbs protruding from it snapped into place. Digits emerged, one at a time, four fingers and a thumb upon each hand, five toes upon each foot. It lost its pure, white hue; that hue turned to one much more natural. It was the sort of skin tone the average person of Japanese descent might have possessed. Pointy, dark-coloured hair rose from this emerged existence's head, accentuated by dark-coloured eyes.

It looked identical to a naked, Kamijou Touma; a Kamijou Touma that had died over a month ago.

"I… I am the One Who Purifies Gods and Slays Demons. And I live!"

A colossal, metallic platform surged from far, far below the emerged existence, acting as ground upon which its bare feet could stand. Willed forward by the Mad Tritonian, Abraxas, who looked on with curiosity.

"You live only because I permit you to. In my domain, you are no one, and you are nothing. You are a _slave_ here."

"Let's slow down, big guy."

It was cocky. The thing had a half-formed sneer upon its fully-formed face.

"I know you. Abraxas. "The Mad Tritonian". Conquered most of the known galaxy, subjugated billions, killed billions more for your… Your… What was it, again? Your "Lady?"

It was the Mad Tritonian's turn to sneer.

"Bold of you to assume I would permit such disrespect towards Mistress Niang-Niang. Yes. These wretches labor eternally in Her name. What greater purpose could there be? To toil for Mistress Niang-Niang is the ultimate gift, greater than life itself. In my own way, I, too, am a servant to Her."

The One Who Purifies Gods and Slays Demons offered the Tritonian a tilt of his head, and a somewhat sympathetic expression.

"Yeah, about that, big guy… I don't think she even knows who you are."

" **Sacrilege**!"

Abraxas rose from his throne, armored feet firmly planted against its enormous, jet-powered base. The monumental throne's on-board technology, capable of feats from interdimensional teleportation to the complete annihilation of a planet's surface via laser bombardment – beams of superheated, ultra-condensed cosmic power – ensured that base was quite titanic. The Tritonian's eyes, partially obscured by his enormous, armored coif, began to crackle, glowing, illuminating all within their path.

The One Who Purifies Gods and Slays Demons knew when to play his hand and when to fall into tactical retreat; he was outmatched, and he knew it. This being before him could end him in less than seconds.

"I meant no offense!" The One Who Purifies Gods and Slays Demons exclaimed, nearly pleading, despite his own internal desire to rise above all others. Shocking pink and emerald, bursts of coloration anomalous shot outward from his mouth and nostrils. "Have you not considered that she's been playing you all along? I was in there. I've heard everything so far! Seems fishy!"

"For a being who adorns himself with such lavish titles, "One Who Purifies Gods and Slays Demons", you really **are** an annoying little cretin. Explain yourself, or I will paint the cosmos with your innards as my brush."

Good. The One had this monstrosity's attention; if only he could keep it, he could prolong his life, even by mere moments. Rebellion was rebellion, regardless of how miserably it might fail. The One could lose utterly having stood upon his feet, not kneeling, not begging.

Not sniveling, begging for scraps, like that snot-nosed brat who'd brought him here, shaped him, given him the capacity for life onto himself.

"It's quite convenient. She comes around sometimes, doesn't she? The way she does. She claims to be completely incapable of making a single, lasting memory of you. Yet, she has you doing _this_. All of this. Hollowing out a whole moon? Building her statues? Doesn't it seem just a little bit convenient, big guy? Then, when you rightfully demand for recompense, it's the same, old story. "Whoops, can't remember you."

"No…"

The Mad Tritonian stumbled. A metaphorical chink in his proverbial armor had been presented before the One. Seating himself upon his throne, balancing his elbows upon his knees, folding his fingers between one another and resting his mammoth chin upon his outstretched hands, Abraxas muttered.

Doubt existed within him. Now, it had been amplified ten times over.

Silently, Abraxas waged a civil war against himself. The battle raged on in his mind, a repeated attack on his own ego.

Inside, the One couldn't help but smirk, smugly. Had it really been _this_ easy?

"No… No… Mistress Niang-Niang would never… No… NO…"

"I think you're being taken for a ride…"

" **FALL SILENT**!"

Fired from those near-invisible eyes, two massive, surging, crackling streams of cosmic energy nearly clipped the One Who Purifies Gods and Slays Demons. Panic overtook the abstract existence who'd just barely dodged a meeting with the great beyond, the beyond outside all existence, where only the dead politicked.

"You would lie to the face of Abraxas? Again, I meet with another _dullard_ whose conceit blinds them to reasonable calculation!"

That was not an exclamation of confidence. It was an exclamation of nihilistic, uncertain mania. It was a desperate plea uttered by one who'd just been faced with the prospect of their very ideals being broken irreparably.

"Hah… You have no idea who, or more importantly, WHAT I am. A boy's unconscious wishes brought me life. I derive my power from that. Power endless; power even greater than yours."

The Mad Tritonian rose once more from his throne. Whether or not his confidence was restored remained a pointless matter of semantics; whatever tactic the One had relied upon now failed him. So much for that mode of attack. And such a shame, too. It **had** seemed to work.

The One silently cursed under his breath.

"I see that you delude yourself with empty claims and boasts. You would have been wise to have remained within that little magician's precious trinket he oh so desires. Your own bravado has brought you to doom, to me. Operating on self-created facts assures regret, "One Who Purifies Gods and Slays Demons."

In an instant – not so much as a physical flash had been visible – Abraxas descended upon the One Who Purifies Gods and Slays Demons like a rabid animal launching itself onto unsuspecting prey. Knocking both himself and the One from their then-shared platform, both fell, down, down, down, to the metallic flooring of Triton's hollowed-out city streets below.

"I have faced your kind before, emanation; you will simply return to your 'cocoon' when you sustain enough harm to result in irrecoverable damage. Despite all of my vast, fathomless power, Abraxas cannot kill you."

The One fought back valiantly. Pinned to the metallic ground, slowly being crushed beneath a colossal, gauntleted hand, he thrashed and screamed, his hollow, echoing roars catching some attention; most citizens of Triton simply walked on by. The happenings and goings-on of their ruler was his own business, and no one else's.

The One was lifted, then.

"… Yet, I can still harm you. Perhaps you've witnessed the gladiatorial matches hosted on the prison-world of Old Ryuvia II, "One Who Purifies Gods and Slays Demons". Have you ever paid closer attention, then, to what occurs within those gladiators who happen to take… one too many… blows to the skull?"

Held aloft by his attacker, the One Who Purifies Gods and Slays Demons suffered as another enormous, gauntleted fist slammed into the side of his face. Coughing, spluttering, shocking pink and emerald were spat like lifeblood.

"Incapable of walking properly. Incapable of doing much at all in the way of physical activity. Slurred speech. Let us have an experiment, then, for the sake of scientific advancement. If I cannot kill you, yet, you possess a human-shaped head, presumably filled with a – surely empty – human-shaped skull, what then will happen to you if it suffers repeated blunt force trauma?"

Another blow came. Shocking pink and emerald burst outwards from the One's ear cannels.

"Again…"

Another blow. The pain was insufferable.

"And again…"

The One could take little more.

" **And again** …"

The ruckus had attracted a certain, floating girl. Long, flowing blonde hair and wide, curious blue eyes looked down at the pitiable sight being pummeled by her 'ruler'. The face of that pitiable sight had been violently pushed inwards. Parts of it had simply shattered and broken, exposing vast cavities from which shocking pink and emerald rushed, pouring like lifeblood. Odd. He was hollow. There wasn't much in the way of insides to be seen. Instead, what resembled hardened, brown-colored resin was all that could be seen within.

Her matured body would've been quite the intoxicating sight for the One Who Purifies Gods and Slays Demons, if he weren't being brutally tortured.

"Basically, whatcha up to?"

"Crushing an insect. What does it matter to you? Tend to your duties."

The girl, Frenda Seivelun – 'the Accelerator', as she had been known in her own, native universe – shrugged indifferently and departed, performing her mental calculations and manipulating the vectors of the air itself around her so that she could achieve flight, at any speed she so wished.

"See you around, then!"

"Quite, Seivelun, quite."

The One could take no more. The emanation, his physical manifestation in the world shattered as a sound akin to shattering glass rang out; he was no more. Glowing, only semi-visible waves of bright, pure white light rushed away, surging desperately, returning to the Mad Tritonian's bargaining chip.

The glowing, pure white existence.

'Imagine Breaker'.

Finished with his day's exercise, Triton's ruler swiftly returned to his mammoth throne. Clasping the pure white, glimmering existence in the palm of his hand once more – tightening his grip significantly, in hopes of causing "The One Who Purifies Gods and Slays Demons" to experience additional anguish – Abraxas settled, his wide, cracking lips settling into a grin.

"You are now enlightened to my universal truth, "One Who Purifies Gods and Slays Demons". To defy me is to court destruction itself. You will yet have a part to play in my labors of love. Abraxas hereby grants you permission to wait on my whims for the rest of your meaningless, pitiful existence."

But that grin did not last. It was a weak, shaky thing.

Doubt was alive and well within the Mad Tritonian; a seed had been planted by the One Who Purifies Gods and Slays Demons. The One knew well that this seed would take root, and begin to grow within his captor, nurtured by the Tritonian's own harbored doubts and anxieties.

Though he lacked the physical body to do so, the One Who Purifies Gods and Slays Demons made an effort to chuckle. Regardless of the pummeling he'd suffered, he _still_ won.

* * *

February 10th, 2004. 4:24 PM.

"Eugh."

Misaka Mikoto reacted as if she'd just smelled something repulsive. Her nose scrunched, and she recoiled, slightly. _This_ was not who she'd been expecting.

"Saint" Lessar was not dressed particularly saintly. Having apparently swapped out of her distinctive New Light 'uniform' – if it could have been called such – she was clad in little more than a tight-fitting crop top which exposed her milky naval, a pair of hemmed denim shorts which just barely covered her upper thighs, and a pair of shin-high, fashionable boots. An enormous, metal-bound crucifix was strapped across her back, held in place tightly by leather restraints which crisscrossed over her chest, tightening around her ample bosom. Her pale skin and blue eyes were accented by her long, black hair, its bangs dipped in golden dye. A pink headband protruded awkwardly from the mismatching, clashing colors.

Nearby her, parked in the middle of the open, seemingly abandoned field, was a limousine. Dark in coloration with darker-colored windows, what most didn't realize is that the intricate patterns woven upon its paintjob – and upon its interior aspects – functioned as runes of magic. Stronger than the toughest of bulletproof glass, harder than the most durable of metals, the spellwork had been laid.

"LOVEEEEEEEERRRRRRRRRBOOOOOOOOOOOOOYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYYY~! Come to Lessar-mama!"

To her surprise, that boy didn't run. In fact, as Lessar darted towards him, easily closing what distance there was between herself and the object of her lustful intentions, she realized several things. His hair was no longer spikey, as it so often was; it had been flattened, its fringe slightly sideswept. His face itself seemed different. Even his neutral expression, which he'd worn before he'd realized just who'd been calling out for him, had something of an aggressive edge to it.

Altogether, Kamijou Touma somehow seemed more mature. Even the way in which he carried himself held an aura of confidence and truth to his self.

In an instant, she was upon him; to her surprise, even with all of her might as a Saint, someone who possessed the power of a higher replica of God and wielded a portion of the Son of God's strength, Stigma, Kamijou Touma did not tumble backward.

His touch was icy; as if she'd just laid the palm of her hand on some metallic surface, one left outside to freeze throughout a cold winter's night. Even Kamijou's clothing was chilling to the touch.

"Hey, loverboy… Why… Why aren't you running…?"

"Lessar."

"Eh…?"

"If I kiss you, are you going to lose your powers as a Saint?"

"Nope... But... Loverboy? You feeling alright? This isn't like you at all. What have I missed?! Wha—"

Before Lessar could say so much as another word, Touma's arms had found their way around her waist. Closing what distance remained, his chilled lips were pressed against the New Light girl's own. He pushed himself onto her, grabbed at her protruding, plump posterior, and forced his cold, icy tongue deep into Lessar's mouth.

"How was that, huh? Will that help you relax a bit? You've always been in heat for as long as I've known you. Time to settle down, Lessar."

The girl blinked several times. She didn't say much of anything. She looked about, from Musujime Awaki, to Misaka Mikoto – that electric girl who she'd encountered a few times before – to Kumokawa Seria, to everyone else who had already begun disembarking from that enormous jetliner, that odd-shaped, winged thing that looked like it shouldn't have been able to fly at all.

"In heat"?! That…"

Lessar blinked one, final time before smiling a wide, toothy grin up at the boy who'd just brought so much pleasure onto her.

"That was pretty good. What changed, loverboy? You're almost making me kinda sad. Almost. Where's that shy little boy I love to tease so much?"

"Gone."

It sounded more like an admission of guilt than anything else. He seemed distant, in truth, now that Lessar was able to get a good look at him, up close and personal. His eyes seemed to have lost their gleaming sheen.

"But that's not important. What's important is getting this, whatever this shit is, done. And asking for help from the people I care about to _get_ it done. That includes you, if you're going to be with us, Lessar-san."

The girls politicked about; Misaka Mikoto exchanged words with Index, while Seria and 'Olivia' resumed discussing the topics which they'd previously engaged in. Musujime Awaki had taken to sightseeing, snapping pictures on her phone. Those who weren't at all related to the blooming 'Kamijou Faction' kept to themselves.

"Well, loverboy…"

The New Light girl shrugged, awkwardly. She didn't quite know what to say; especially given the presence of 'certain people'. Namely, Academy City's number one strongest esper, and the nearby Aztec magician, the one she'd come to know through private channels as 'Etzali'.

Leaning in and pressing her lips to Touma's cold-feeling ear, Lessar spoke in a soft, hushed tone of voice, "There're a few complications. I'm under orders from the Priestess to escort you and all these cute girls you keep away from here… And to attack anyone who tries to stop me from doing that."

Kamijou Touma raised an eyebrow.

"Not going to be a problem, Lessar-san. If you want to try and jump those two, I'm game to help out. Wouldn't mind getting my hands on that fucking snake Tsuchimikado. Just avoid the girl who looks like Misaka, and the guy in the tux. They haven't done anything wrong to anyone."

"I'm not sure I like this, loverboy."

"Like what?"

"You, right now."

Lessar's usual veneer of jovial flirtation-laden snark was gone. The New Light girl seemed to have become deadly serious. Making an effort to appear as if she was simply fondling the boy, Lessar wrapped her arms around Touma's shoulders, and pressed her lips closer, tighter, to his ear.

"What happened to you, Kamijou? You're not like this. It's frightening me a little bit."

In response, keeping up his end of the theatrics intended to throw off those who might've been attempting to listen in, Kamijou Touma grabbed at Lessar's posterior and squeezed.

"Don't ask questions you won't like the answers to, Lessar-san. But, c'mon, don't be scared. I'm still me. I'm still your 'loverboy', I promise. Maybe I've just grown a bit, changed a lot. I promise, there's nothing to be afraid of. Alright?"

That would have to suffice. Lessar offered the boy a warm, genuine smile. It was small, tugging only lightly at her cheeks, but it was genuine.

"ALRIGHT!"

There it was, that usual, boisterous persona of Lessar's. As if some switch had been flipped in her brain, the New Light girl planted her hands on her hips, standing tall and at attention.

"Loverboy and his lovely little gaggle of gals are with me! The rest of you, buzz off! Go dip your heads in the lake or something!"

Tsuchimikado Motoharu was having none of this. He immediately began to step forward; he turned, momentarily, and shot Accelerator a glare that screamed _"shit."_

Was she compromised? Had something happened? Surely, the Amakusa Remix-Style of Church hadn't gone rogue. There was no conceivable way. He'd only just been communing with Kanzaki Kaori herself through magical means the night previous. Everything _seemed_ fine.

But, then, why would the Amakusa's _other_ resident Saint, Lessar, suggest something like this?

For the briefest of moments, panic welled up in Necessarius' double agent.

"Oi, Lessar. What's the meaning of this? The operation involves Kami-yan as well as myself. Forget about his clingers-on; we both know our orders. Are you defying them?"

" **What** did you just say about the people I love?!"

Kamijou Touma was upon Tsuchimikado Motoharu like a bat rushing out from the opened gates of Hell. He'd descended into a darkened, grey-coloured mist and simply closed the distance with very little effort at all. The speed at which a hardened fist slammed into the side of Motoharu's face left the Backstabbing Blade without much in the way of options, save for soaking the blow up.

What could Kumokawa Seria do? She wracked her 'special brain' searching for an answer. This could end miserably. Though Musujime Awaki had teleported herself between the brawling pair, acting as a living barricade, her efforts would surely wind up becoming futile. Misaka Mikoto had reached into her skirt's pocket, and produced a gleaming, silver coin, the sort of trinket one would find in an arcade.

"Short-hair…! What do we do?!"

The Railgun did her best to comfort the worried, silver-haired nun. Patting the girl on her shoulder, Mikoto kept her eyes on Move Point at all times; she waited for the exact moment when Awaki's intervention wouldn't be enough. She was ready.

"I-I don't really know. I don't know. There's tension here I guess. If things get bad, I'm getting involved. Don't worry."

With either of her arms outstretched, one in Touma's direction, the other in Motoharu's, Move Point breathed deeply. She turned first to her 'coworker'.

"You, watch your mouth. You're half the reason why these things are always happening the way they are. Sheesh. Always popping off at the lip…"

She turned second to Kamijou Touma.

"Relax, Kamijou. I don't think anyone here really cares what this idiot thinks."

"I certainly don't," Seria proclaimed, then. "Truly, Tsuchimikado. You are without a shred of tact. As soon as an inconvenience stumbles your way, you react in a childish, volatile manner. Much unbecoming of someone in _your_ position."

Kamijou silently fumed. He couldn't 'feel' it, just as he couldn't 'feel' anything else with his nanorobotic shell which housed what remained of his sentience, but, repeated bursts of quasi-omniscient data informed him that he should feel rage.

And, so, Kamijou _did_ to the best of his capacity to do just that.

And he backed down. Touma would be the bigger man.

Stepping away, soon to have his hand taken into the warm, soft, loving palms of Kumokawa Seria's own, Kamijou's glare never departed, never faded, never left Tsuchimikado Motoharu's line of sight.

Only once Seria encouraged him to turn away did Touma's expression soften.

"You should hardly allow yourself to be so violently riled up by the likes of _Tsuchimikado_ , Touma-kun," the boy's senpai spoke comfortingly. "Be calm, my little kohai. Be calm."

As Kamijou Touma was surrounded, Tsuchimikado Motoharu rubbed the side of his face; already it was beginning to swell up. That monster had him good, and fast. There was simply no way he could've evaded it, even with his superhuman speed. The blow had come as quickly as a bullet.

"Yo, Accelerator."

The Backstabbing Blade flashed a grin in the direction of Academy City's 'top dog'. His expression had worked itself into a frustrated-seeming frown.

"Put an end to this, would you?"

"Fucking forget it. Get that shit out of your head."

"Even you, Accelerator?"

" _Tsuchimikado_. Fight your own battles. I'm not fucking getting involved in whatever you and that goddamn hero have going on. It's not my problem. Not taking your kill orders, either."

There was little else to do, then, but click his tongue in barely-contained anger. There was little else to do. Etzali wouldn't act against Kamijou Touma either, so long as he kept his 'promise'. Especially given that Academy City's third-ranked level five was abounds. To try and attack the monster that called itself Kamijou Touma, now, would be suicide. He had a Saint. He had the third-ranked level five esper. He had a level five candidate, level four Move Point; of her loyalty Motoharu was already decided. If the winds of change were to gust, Musujime Awaki would surely throw her lot in with Kamijou.

"Let's-a-go," Lessar commanded as she hurried Touma, and those who'd accompanied him, towards the luxurious limousine; bought and paid for with the English taxpayers' Pounds. "I don't know how much longer we can keep the lid on this, so, let's burn rubber. There might not be enough seats, though… Oh, loverboy!"

Further attempting to drift Touma's mind from his recent 'encounter' with Necessarius' very own Backstabbing Blade, Lessar wrapped her arms around the boy's waist and grabbed at his crotch suggestively, licking her lips.

"I can sit in your lap, right~? I don't mind rotating with the others~."

Despite himself, Touma found he was reaching out for the girl's chin. With his hand's index finger and thumb, he took her chin and pulled her face gently towards his own, until their lips were mere inches apart.

"As long as you're looking at me."

"Ahhhh~. Loverboy~. I never knew you were such a _romantic_!"

"I'll show you 'romance' when I can get you alone, Lessar-san."

Just as Lessar was about to begin the process of throwing open the limousine's doors, Kamijou Touma found himself flanked by his exceedingly gorgeous senpai, Kumokawa Seria. Ensnaring his arm within her own, the older girl smiled down warmly at the attractive Lessar, before running her tongue delicately across her upper lip.

"Alone? Oh, my Touma-kun. That's no fun at all. Surely you'd permit your senpai to join in the festivities, my little kohai? After all, with only a single girl, who will be there to _sit on your face_? Hm?"

Instantly, the New Light girl, Lessar, extended a hand outwards, welcomingly.

"I like the way you think. A woman after my own heart! Name's Lessar. If you want to tag-team loverboy with me, I'd gladly have you along. We can even take turns on his big, meaty…"

"A moment, if you would."

Lessar found herself interrupted by 'Olivia', who, too, had entered the scene. Misaka Mikoto and the little silver-haired nun, Index, were left looking to one another, before exchanging awkward smirks.

That boy they loved certainly had a way with the opposite sex.

"Surely you recognize me, Lessar of New Light. Surely, whatever past we shared can be promptly and lovingly be placed under the bridge like so much stale water. After all, if _this boy_ is involved, then I would most definitely _not_ enjoy being cast aside."

The New Light girl seemed to give it some thought.

"Yeah, sure. Why not? I'll milk his balls with my hands, you can fuck him, and… What was your name again?"

"Kumokawa Seria, Lessar-san."

"Right! And _she_ can ride his face!"

Kamijou Touma merely accepted that which was occurring and welcomed it. There was no blushing, no fidgeting, no squirming or efforts to flee from this. A change of pace had _long_ been in order, that much was more than merely certain.

_"I ignored my destiny once. I won't do it again."_

Musujime Awaki joined her cohorts, then, and teleported herself to Kamijou Touma's side.

"My, my. What's going on here? Something exciting? Sheesh, the least you could have done was let me know. I get distracted for one minute and I find myself outside the loop again."

"Glad to see **my** girls are getting along like this. Really. I love you all _so_ much."

"I'm…?"

Raising either of her hands to her mouth, Lessar was taken aback. She stumbled, slightly, before maintaining her balance once more; her Sainthood ensured misfortune would not befall her so easily.

"I'm… I'm part of the harem?! FOR REAL?! **YES**! **FINALLY**! My popular days are here! No longer is the name "Lessar" associated with a side character! I'll take good care of you, loverboy!"

Throwing herself onto him, being caught in his chilling, but powerful arms, Lessar stared up, then licked her lips seductively.

"Alright, no more dawdling. We need to get in, and fast. Our driver's got her orders. Can't hang around too long, or people are going to start asking questions. And… Who knows how long we can keep _those_ guys…" Lessar motioned over her shoulder rather conspicuously with a casual shifting of her neck to the side, specifically towards Tsuchimikado Motoharu, "… Off our cute, collective little booties for."

Index was the first to clamber into the vehicle somewhat awkwardly, as Lessar pried one door from its first set of passenger accommodations open. Patting the seat next to her and inviting her 'keeper', the boy obliged with a small, genuine smile. Capable of seating three people within a row, it would quickly be established that Misaka Mikoto would join him, taking to Touma's opposite side.

Of course, Lessar could not have left well enough alone, and as she'd vowed to do, Lessar sat herself casually in the Touma's cold-feeling lap. Forcibly grinding her posterior against his crotch, the New Light girl grinned a wide, devious grin.

In the three-person seat next, behind the first, Kumokawa Seria politely sat herself between Musujime Awaki and 'Olivia', in truth the once-Magic God, Othinus. Neither girl minded the attention, evidently.

Either of her hands found a leg upon which to rest. Kamijou Touma's senpai had truly become a pervert; at this rate, it hardly mattered what gender she 'associated' with. The company her kohai kept was made up of exceedingly attractive folk, and, the older girl who'd denied herself so much, for so long – perhaps even aspects of her own yet-budding sexuality – let loose, resting her head against the limousine's soft, delicate seating. She nearly sank into it, so welcoming was it.

The dark-coloured interior of the limousine was lit by dull silver lighting. LEDs had been worked into the vehicle's interior, illuminating most, but not all of the expansive, surprisingly roomy seating arrangements.

With one of his hands clutched in Index's own, and the other held tightly, lovingly, in Misaka Mikoto's, Kamijou Touma permitted his nanorobotic eyelids to close, gently. Though a being such as himself no longer required sleep to function, if he had still been human – less, than he was, now – he could've dozed off. The little silver-haired nun clung tightly to him, nuzzling the side of her face against her keeper's shoulder.

"Touummaaaa…" She cooed softly.

"Hey."

Mikoto's voice was soft, full of adoration for him. Whatever aggressive exterior she'd occasionally put up, or otherwise unconsciously manifest was not present; and Touma had seen few things quite as beautiful.

"Hey, back at you. What's the good word?"

The Railgun didn't immediately answer. She was smiling, her cheeks illuminated by a crimson blush.

"This whole scenario must be a real cloggin' in the noggin', huh, Misaka? This is just what hanging out with me is like. But, you sort of knew that already, didn't you? No matter what ends up happening here, there's no way I'm pushing you away. I'm _done_ with that shit, now. I'm here to show you, all of you, how much I appreciate you. I want your help, here. I _need_ it, Misaka... And, hey, you're fun to have around. You..."

"Shush for a second, Idi— silly."

"Alright, officially shushed."

"I love you."

The Railgun's lips connected with Touma's own. Their softness, their delicious taste – a taste Touma could enjoy even more with his higher, nanorobot-enhanced mind absorbing every second of it, allowing him to experience it all hundreds of times over, in a way a lesser, weaker, flawed human body never could have – crashed all throughout him, like so many torrential downpours.

"I love you too, Mikoto. Is it cool if I call you Mikoto? Probably should've been on a first-name basis earlier, huh?"

"You big dope... Yeah, it's cool. Of course it's 'cool'. I'm just glad we **finally** know where we stand in regards to each other. No more nonsense. No more misunderstandings… Even if it's not 'normal.' I'd rather be 'abnormal' here with you, than 'normal' and still in Academy City. Worrying. Sick to my stomach."

"Mikoto…"

Another kiss. His hands were occupied, and, so, Mikoto herself took the initiative; she comfortingly took that boy's face into her spare hand, lovingly stroking his cold, soft cheek with her fingers, and looked into his eyes. They were not the eyes of a human. Misaka Mikoto could tell well enough that they were _not_ the eyes of a human; she'd been the first to learn of everything _he_ had been through. His eyes, they lacked a distinctive human gleam.

It hardly mattered.

"Don't get all bothered about it. That's all over now. You've said it yourself, so, there's not really anything else to dwell on, is there?"

"I guess not, Mikoto. I guess there isn't. Heh… It only took being brutally tortured and having my entire body replaced with trillions of tiny little robots to wake me up. All in all, just another day for this Kamijou-san."

The Railgun would let that comment slide. It infuriated here to no end that someone, anyone – especially that whoreson Kihara Gensei – harmed that boy who was so precious to her. Still, if this was that boy's way of dealing with his trauma, then, who was she to stop him? All Mikoto truly wished for was to be there with him, and, there she was. The Railgun had her wishes granted. That awkward distance was dealt with. He wasn't pushing her away.

"Driver-san, oh, driver-san!" Lessar called out, then, interrupting the moment. "Are we Bristol-bound, oh driver-san?"

"Yep~."

The vehicle's driver turned in her seat, and flashed a sly, knowing wink in Kamijou Touma's direction.

Her cleavage nearly hung entirely outside of her shirt.

A devious, almost sinister grin formed upon Touma's face, rising steadily as his nanorobotic, pearly whites were exposed, one at a time. Kamijou's expression was one which a hungry, overweight child might have worn just before digging into the first bite of his birthday cake.

"Well, well, well. If it isn't Oriana Thomson… You're a sight for sore eyes, gorgeous."


	29. The End of Accelerator I

February 11th, 2004. 1:24 AM.

"Is that all of them, Karasuma?"

"Yep."

The empty, abandoned warehouse in Academy City's seventeenth school district was a flimsy thing. Its walls seemed little thicker than mere sheets of paper, and its roof, little more than two sheets of metallic arching and meeting one another at a curved pinnacle was heavily damaged by time and the elements. The concrete floor was cracked in places, and, from some among those cracks, weeds had begun to grow, as if nature was attempting, bit by bit, to reclaim Academy City for herself.

Altogether, the entire warehouse could've been a good science exhibit, demonstrating the prolonged effects of rust eating away at metal.

It wasn't a wonder that this place was left to rot.

Still, for the purposes of the Oculus, this place would do.

Clad, as always, in his cheap two-piece suit, Gladio-Oculus operative Dave Horton couldn't have wanted to simply find a place to curl up and slumber any more than he did presently. A cigarette hung limp from between his cracked, chapped lips. Grease-laden hair slicked back, furrowed brow plastered in sweat, he certainly didn't look the part of an Academy City 'G-Man'.

Karasuma Fran looked little better. In her pink, hooded sweater, simplistic gym shorts, cheap white trainers, with the bobbing, ornamental antennas which protruded from her sweater's hood, she looked as if she simply didn't belong here. Fran looked hardly old enough to even be away from her mother.

All was silent beyond this warehouse. The birds of Academy City had settled in to sleep with their little families in their little nests, as had a vast majority of the beasts, save for those nocturnal night-stalkers who prowled the darkness in search for their prey.

Academy City's seventeenth school district, despite its purpose as a hub of industry and the importing of goods, was hardly active at night. In fact, it might as well have been a ghost district once the night settled and the human labourers left, homeward bound. Beneath the moonlight so much machinery gleamed beneath Pale Luna's silvery light. Cranes, forklifts, and, in abundance above all other forms of cargo transportation, large heavy-set freight trains. Intentional or otherwise, great walls had been formed from metallic transport crates piled atop one another, forming vast, intricate mazes. Winding sections of metallic track wound all throughout the school district, connecting some facilities and making access to others simpler.

This veneer of relative innocence, this illusion of a school district dedicated entirely to Academy City's industrial endeavors, would have been as good as unveiled for any who'd happened upon the sight unfolding within this abandoned, derelict warehouse.

Both Horton and Karasuma wielded semiautomatic pistols. Both had their firearms held aloft, aimed in the direction of ten individuals in total, each of whom had been forced upon their knees. With thick, pitch-dark bags forced over their heads, held in place by plastic ties which were bound around their necks, all ten individuals, too, had their hands tied behind their respective backs.

"If I help with this, I'll get to return to Kakeru-chan…?"

Despite gripping a firearm in his hands with every intention to shoot ten people dead, there and then before him, Dave Horton seemed to offer the girl a sympathetic expression.

"On my word as an Oathkeeper of Gladio-Oculus. Whatever yoke the Intelligence Division has you under, I'll… I'll pull some strings, and get you out. Might not think it, but I have enough clout to make things move. As long as we play by the rules, we make it out."

"Gladio-Oculus… But you're Oculus.

"Right."

"… So, you're the corrupt division."

"Corrupt? Well… Only a little. Compared to the rest of this **shithole** City? Far below average. There's only one way to join the big leagues. Don't have the heart for it. Karasuma, just… Stand by. We're probably not going to need you for this. Only if anyone tries to run."

With empty eyes offering a glimpse into the soul of a girl who was completely and utterly disinterested in her present situation, Karasuma Fran nodded. With absolutely nothing to sit herself on, the 'Kamisato Faction' member merely looked about, bored. She casually folded her arms behind her back – as if mocking those she literally looked down upon – and interlocked her hands' fingers with each other. She rocked backwards and forwards upon her heels and toes.

Taking a few steps forward, Horton took aim at the first bagged target. Their mouths had all been gagged, stuffed full with dirtied, greasy old rags.

The screaming, pleading and bargaining always made it just that much harder. At the very least, he would be spared that aspect of this grisly business.

" _Hardly a wonder why they all love Hamasaki."_

Clearing his throat, the Gladio-Oculus operative spoke, firmly. He wasn't an animal. He was going to speak to these people, and inform them of just why their lives were being taken from them.

"I have some idea of what you all must be thinking. From where you're kneeling, this probably feels like the worst day of your life; believe it or not, this isn't it. Could've been much worse. For what it's worth, I really _am_ sorry. You've found yourselves on the wrong side of a difficult balancing act.

"As active practitioners of 'magic', and as active members of a magical cabal, you knew the risks. The Magic-Science Treaty exists for a reason. Your subversive efforts brought you here. It's nothing personal. Just business. This might seem like bad luck, but… This isn't it. Operatives of the subversive magical cabal, 'Sons of Taured', I, with the full authority of Gladio-Oculus, hereby sentence you all to… Death."

Approaching the first – the first in 'line', so to speak, and the first to begin desperately squirming – then trailing behind, Dave Horton put him to death with a single, well-placed shot to the back of the head. A sudden, unimaginable burst of pain, unlike anything the bagged victim had ever experienced before; but it was all over in less than a second. The bullet ripped through flesh and bone; it emerged, clean, through the front of the pitch-dark bag. Lifeless, the corpse, once a living human being hit the unfeeling concrete with a thud.

Several more followed. Each faceless, unspeaking, bound and gagged Sons of Taured operative – arrests made during the bust in the Occult Market, a clear violation of the Magic-Science Treaty – were put to an exceedingly swift, but extremely, unfathomably painful death.

One threw herself to the floor, and attempted to wriggle away.

Without hesitation Karasuma Fran unloaded the content of her firearm's clip into the target; Dave Horton finished her with a single, well-placed shot to the back of the head.

"Don't be so messy. They don't deserve it, Karasuma."

The final would-be victim seemed to have a thought none among his now-deceased bedfellows had; fighting back. Despite his inability to see, despite the fact that his mouth was stuffed with rags and covered with several pieces of thick, durable duct tape, he rose, and charged in the direction of the last sound he'd heard; Karasuma Fran's gunshots.

Two shots from Dave Horton's firearm to his back put him on the ground; a third, to the back of his head, ended him.

"It never does get easier, Karasuma. When I was training to join Anti-Skill, before Oculus brought me in, they always said the same thing. "It gets easier". That's horse shit." Tsuchimikado and Hamasaki make it look easy, because, at the end of the day, they're pure business."

The operative shrugged. To Fran, he seemed even more tired than usual.

"Easy pickings to perpetuate that lie, though. We had a young guy with us, recent recruit to the Oculus. Showed plenty of potential, dedicated to preserving the Treaty and keeping the Oath as any of us…"

He took another drag from his cigarette, the dangling, limp thing that hadn't left his lips once. Dave Horton spoke through it, his teeth and lips maneuvering _around_ it.

"… He didn't like the furnaces so much. Burning the bodies. Smell made him lose his dinner, probably a bit of his lunch, too. I told him the same thing. "It gets easier." Knew damn well I was lying. Can't blame the boy. The smell… It's not something you **ever** forget, Karasuma. He's doing much better as the office janitor."

Silently, she'd listened on. In response, she merely tilted her head, as if curious.

"That's that, then. Show's over. I'll take care of the stiffs, get them in the van. You… You go and do whatever you want, now. I'll pull some strings and get them off your back. Good work, Karasuma. Keep the Oath."

"Keep the Oath," Karasuma Fran quietly responded as she turned on her heel, and casually departed from the bloodstained warehouse. Squeezing herself through the pried-open, metallic doors which she'd partially closed after Horton had herded their targets in, the fake gemstone disappeared into the darkness of the night, leaving Dave Horton to clean up after himself.

" _The Gladio operatives get to have fun every night toppling South American socialist regimes… And the Oculus gets stuck with_ _ **this**_ _."_

It was then, deep in his contemplations, that the Gladio-Oculus operative's decades of intensive training betrayed him; the vibrations of his smartphone in the pocket of his dirtied, blood-soaked suit pants sent the chills of panic rushing through him; instinctual, leftover residue from a time when humankind had been little more than savages in loincloths.

Retrieving the device, flipping it open and practically shoving it up to his ear, Horton spoke in a feverish tone, "what?"

"You're not going to like this, Davey."

The voice on the other end of the call was one he certainly hadn't wanted to hear; it was that of Tsuchimikado Motoharu, the Backstabbing Blade. That voice was one of uncertainty. Without a direct dumping of exposition, intentional or otherwise, Motoharu spoke countless words through it.

"No, you're right. I'm _not_ going to like this. But you called me, so, let's hear it. What colossal fuckup has happened, now?"

"Suspicious that the Amakusa have gone rogue. Suspicious that they're trying to pull Kamijou and his clingers-on down with them… Saint Lessar isn't acting right. Accelerator, Etzali and little ol' me are totally left in the dark. Too convenient."

" **SHIT**!"

Horton nearly threw his smartphone to the concrete floor below.

"SHIT! Shit, shit, SHIT!"

"Calm down, Davey. Accelerator's around here, somewhere, with the two-faced prick. Should he go in for the kill order? He won't accept anything from me. But you? You're his direct superior. Threaten his loli, if you have to."

"Certainly, Tsuchimikado. I'll threaten the Accelerator's little friend. Sure! No problem! Not a problem at all. I've always wanted to be reduced to a pile of meat. Don't be ridiculous. Get him, and give him over to me. I'll _handle_ the Accelerator. Don't **you** mention a WORD about Last Order. That little shit's his leash. We're not cutting it."

There was prolonged silence, mostly; save for rustling and the tone of crackling interference brought about by the gusting of wind.

After several proclamations of _"fuck off"_ and rhetorical inquiries lobbed at Tsuchimikado Motoharu regarding potential suicidal tendencies, manifesting in the repeated uttering of _"do you want to fucking die?"_ Dave Horton **finally** managed to get a hold of Academy City's 'top dog'.

"What the fuck do you want? I'm going to smear that fucking snitch Tsuchimikado against the wall for this shit. I don't have time for this. If this is the kind of stunts you're going to be pulling, I'm out."

"No, Accelerator, you are certainly not "out". As your direct superior in Gladio-Oculus, I'm officially, on the record, issuing onto you a kill order. Failure to carry this order out… Let's not discuss the price of failure. Get it done. Now."

"This is about that fucking hero, isn't it? No. I don't give a shit. I won't do it."

"Is that so?"

Despite the visage of confidence that he projected through his cellular communication with the strongest esper on the entire planet, Dave Horton silently hoped that the crimson-eyed, pale, white-haired personification of Hell walking on Earth would simply bend over without further issue. Truthfully, this was the absolute last sort of conversation Horton wished to be having with someone like the Accelerator.

"Academy City provides you with a generous stipend; not that you care. You don't need it, do you? But those clones you're so fond of…"

"Tch… Fuck. You. Don't you fucking DARE bring those brats into this!"

"Academy City's restaurants are always hiring, aren't they, Accelerator? They might not hire you if, say, confidential information was to get out regarding your involvement with the Level Six Shift Experiments, now, would they?

"Twist the narrative, paint **you** as the mastermind… Gladio-Oculus controls Academy City's media, Accelerator. What we want them to say, the newscasters say it. The journalists parrot it. The guinea pigs believe it. As long as we keep the General Superintendent and Board of Directors out of it…"

"I can't fucking believe you. They're innocent. They're kids, you fucking dickhead!"

Truthfully, Dave Horton couldn't believe himself, either; even as his heart beat rapidly, to the point that he believed its repetition to be vastly in excess of that which was healthy, that visage remained steadfast. A missed opportunity for a career in Hollywood?

"Yes, Accelerator. Yes, you can."

"Tch."

"Is that a yes?"

"… Yeah. It is."

"Good. Keep the Oath."

"… Keep the Oath."

It wasn't going to be that simple; as Accelerator, Academy City's 'top dog' ended the call and pocketed his phone, he shoved either of his hands into his pockets and cursed under his breath. Accelerator wasn't about to hurry himself off to delve back into that endless abyss of darkness, nor end the one who had helped him surface from its depths.

No matter how much that boy had, supposedly, changed.

" _That fucking hero… There's no way I can do this. Not now… Not fucking ever. There's got to be something. I need to fucking think of some shit, and quick."_

Turning, the strongest one nearly snarled. Biting down onto nothing, gnashing his teeth against one another with such force that his jaw audibly creaked aloud, the pale, crimson-eyed boy stared directly into the darkened sunglasses of Tsuchimikado Motoharu.

"Why the fuck are you so eager to off that damn hero? I thought you two were all buddy-buddy together. What changed?"

"That's none of your business."

Tsuchimikado Motoharu's words were sharp, like so many daggers. When discussing the matter of Kamijou Touma, the normally wily young man seemed to suddenly, uncharacteristically harden.

The Aztec magician, Etzali, kept his distance. Quietly, he observed all, took mental notes, and paid close attention to the Backstabbing Blade's words. He wondered where that odd girl who'd looked quite a lot like Misaka Mikoto had gotten off to; she'd disappeared, seemingly. Perhaps she'd returned to the aircraft they'd flown here in?

The Accelerator took a single step forward. A vein seemed to twitch in his head. White hair, white as freshly fallen snow on a crisp winter's morning. Pale, sickly skin. Like a corpse. Piercing, blood red eyes, like those of some demon that had dredged itself up from the blackened depths of Hell. Skinnier than a survivor pulled from a death camp. His lips, having curled downwards into a deep-set frown seemed to physically crack as Academy City's strongest clicked his tongue, aggravated.

"So, this is where we fucking stand with each other, Tsuchimikado? I'm your goddamn attack dog now? I don't think so. Not now, not ever. I'm no one's lackey."

It all happened in the time it took the silent, observative Etzali to blink; Accelerator, unburdened by brain damage unlike in so many other possible realities, merely tapped the tip of his cheap, dirt-caked trainer against the grass beneath him.

The Earth itself rumbled as colossal chunks of solid, earthen matter were ejected into the air; forced from their places of rest like a miniature collision of continents during a world-breaking cataclysmic, Tsuchimikado Motoharu found himself tossed along with them.

In a mere moment's time, the Accelerator was upon him. A pallid hand wrapped around the Backstabbing Blade's throat, and a set of fiery, wrathful crimson eyes stared into the blonde-haired spy's sunglasses.

"You think you can fuck me around, Tsuchimikado?! Did you forget?! I'm still the TOP DOG!"

What was he to do? What _could_ he have done? Tsuchimikado was nothing compared to this monster. Academy City's strongest remained a horrific sight to behold, even for one who was already well-acquainted with the less reputable aspects of both Magic and Science.

Colossal, whipping tornadoes had come, rushing out from Accelerator's back. There were four of them, and each seemed to tear at reality itself; the very air around the two distorted. Accelerator's chokehold tightened.

"You have ten minutes to call your black ops buddies back before I fucking kill you, and then turn Academy City into a pile of smoking ash. Are we understanding one another, Tsuchimikado?! As soon as that goddamn idiot buddy of yours brought those fucking brats into this, you all…"

The 'number one's' lips curled into a wide, hideous, shit-eating grin. It stretched from one ear and to the other, exposing rows of gleaming teeth.

"… You started on your journey down the One-Way Road!"

Like a flash of lightning following the monstrous clapping of rolling thunder, Accelerator landed upon his feet with such force that minor quakes wracked all of Europe, from England to Russia. Fissures tore through the world's crust, deep beneath the landscapes of the surface as the Earth itself seemed to rage alongside him.

Tsuchimikado Motoharu, still held aloft, struggled against Accelerator's grip.

With an unceremonious toss, the Backstabbing Blade found himself on his own back. Humiliated, utterly bested, but very much alive.

"Ha. That felt really fucking good, you know? Sometimes, it really doesn't hurt to let loose… Don't forget, Tsuchimikado. Ten minutes."

The Backstabbing Blade merely chuckled, rising to his feet upon his shuddering legs with some effort. Altogether, aside from being thoroughly shaken, the double agent seemed no worse for wear.

"You seem to be forgetting something, 'main plan'. I'm not the one who calls the shots. You know that, Accelerator. The one who _does_ call the shots is well beyond you or me. That's just the way it is. If you start rampaging around Academy City, Anti-Skill isn't going to be your primary concern. _He_ will be."

"… Tch."

"See my point? Yeah. You do. Otherwise, you wouldn't be resigning yourself to your fate right now. The kill order still applies, Accelerator. Go get it done. Kamijou isn't the 'hero' you remember. He's a problem. Put him down. **Now**."

Accelerator seemed to have some sort of internal debate with himself; this wouldn't be the first time he'd be facing "that goddamn hero". First, there was the showdown in Academy City's seventeenth school district. Then, there was that brawl in Russia. Then, the show of opposing forces in Denmark, when Kamijou Touma had thrown his lot in with a terrorist organization's leader, and pitted himself against the entire world's nations.

It really wouldn't be all that difficult, would it?

Academy City's 'top dog' sneered. Several veins throbbed in his forehead as he looked directly into Tsuchimikado's eyes, past his darkened shades. Shoving either of his pallid, boney hands into his cheap pants' loose pockets, that white-haired, pale-skinned monster turned on his heel, seemingly without a care in the world.

"All right, Hero… Here we fucking go again!"

February 10th, 2004. 4:45 PM.

The repeated bumping jostled the limousine's passengers about, this way and that way; such was the result of attempting to drive through a vast, open field with absolutely no paved roads in sight for what might've seemed like miles to a casual observer. Aside from the odd tree which rose, high and mighty, each healthier and livelier than the last if one were to judge by appearances alone, there was very little. These fields hadn't even been used for farmland. There were only endless expanses of tall, bright green grass in all directions.

"So, Kamijou-kun. Tell onee-san all about the adventures you've been getting up to~! It's certainly been far too long, hasn't it?"

With little in the way of objects which could lead to any sort of vehicular accident, Oriana Thomson was free to turn from the wheel, even as her hands gripped it tightly, and face back to rest her gaze upon those passengers she ferried.

She was absolutely, positively stunning. A tight-fitting, exceedingly undersized tanktop clung to her upper body, exposing almost the entirety of her developed, ample bosom. Bound around her curvy, sumptuous waist was an orange cloth, trimmed with light-coloured material which almost resembled thick strands of fur. Dangling from this cloth were long, marble-coloured straps of cloth, together resembling the lower half of a dress which had been perfectly cut in so many places. Golden-coloured, high-heeled gladiator sandals encased her delicate feet.

With Index cuddling tightly against him, taking up one of his arms, and the other wrapped tightly, protectively against an intensely-blushing Misaka Mikoto's shoulders, Kamijou Touma shrugged in what could only be described as abject indifference. Saint Lessar remained seated on his lap, facing him; her own arms were cast around the boy's chilly shoulders. Repeatedly, Lessar rubbed her bosom against the boy's pecs.

"A lot of changes to adjust to. Otherwise, nothing out of the ordinary, Oriana. Or, should I say, Ms. Thomson? Please don't tell me it's 'Mrs.' and break my heart.

Of course, Kamijou Touma had no trouble admitted to himself that, beyond a shadow of any doubt, he wanted this woman. He _wanted_ Oriana Thomson.

And he would _have_ her, in the end.

After a single glance spared to the road – and a subsequent confirmation that there was, still, absolutely nothing to be concerned about – the sorcerous freelancer tossed her head back and laughed heartily; her ample bosom vibrated as she did so, rising and falling almost rhythmically.

"Aren't _you_ just a suave little thing, Kamijou-kun! What changed, hmm? You can tell onee-san. I still remember you reeling, blushing like a proper little gentleman when you accidentally bumped right into my chest~!"

" _That was a weak, sad little piece of trash. He's gone."_

That was what Kamijou Touma _wanted_ to say. Instead, he considered his words, and spoke them after careful contemplation. Repeated influxes of perhaps omniscient incoming data informed Touma that a calculated response would serve best in this situation.

"I guess it was a phase I grew out of."

Kamijou Touma's gaze met the Railgun's own. Hers was a sympathetic one. It offered only a glimpse into the pity she felt for this boy. A boy who'd always been throwing himself to the proverbial wolves for everyone else's sake.

A boy who, despite his heroic actions, was denied a saviour of his own in his time of need.

She could've been there. Misaka Mikoto _should've_ been there. She should've torn that laboratory, or whatever it might have been apart, piece by piece, searching for him. Slaughtering anyone who got in her way.

" _Stop that! Stop it, Mikoto. These thoughts aren't helping anyone."_

Another conversation with him could wait. Instead of attempting to start one, Mikoto placed a gentle, affectionate kiss to the boy's cold-feeling cheek; still, even after all they'd been through together, after all they'd yet discussed about the world, about one another, about their situation… She still blushed. Every drop of blood in Mikoto's body seemed to rush immediately, headlong into her cheeks.

"THAT makes you blush, zapper-girl?! You've got a lot to learn if you want to pull your weight in the harem. Here, let Lessar-mama show you how it's done."

Forcefully, the 'Saint' ground her lower body against Kamijou Touma's own, took his face into her soft, surprisingly delicate hands, and looked deeply into his cold, lifeless eyes, perhaps for the first, true time.

There wasn't much to speak of in there. They seemed human enough; yet, they lacked a certain human gleam. It was almost as if Lessar stared so deeply into a set of glass eyes which somehow managed to move about of their own accord within their sockets.

Lessar tilted her head to one side, then sized Kamijou up for a brief few moments.

Leaning in – clearly able to read the figurative room as well as anyone else – Lessar pressed her lips to Touma's ear, and gently kissed it; it _felt_ like flesh, like a normal person's earlobe. Yet, it was so unnaturally cold that the 'Saint' might as well have been kissing a hunk of metal.

"What happened, Kamijou…?"

Her whisper was soft. Uncharacteristically, Lessar's words were tender and gentle, like those of a reassuring older sister. This was in spite of the fact that Lessar herself was, in truth, younger than Kamijou.

Touma kissed her back, in kind.

"Didn't we have this conversation, Lessar? Don't ask questions that have answers you're not going to like."

"You're being difficult."

"So are you. I like you better when you're dumb, horny bimbo Lessar. Can we get some of that going on again?"

"Not until you tell me what's going on with you, Kamijou."

He produced the human approximation of a sigh; of course, he wasn't truly capable of producing an actual sigh. That required the inhalation of oxygen, an act which would have ultimately been unnecessary for a higher being such as himself.

He'd been meaning to respond; but another did so in his stead.

"Back off."

Mikoto's words brought with them several passing moments of silence. The Railgun girl's grip on the object of her affections tightened; for a moment her fingertips brushed against those of the little nun girl, Index, who always seemed to be with him.

"He'll tell you when he's ready. H-How about that, huh? Try respecting people's personal space."

Sensing the tension rising in the air, the former Magic God, Othinus – who, up until this point, had been occupied in her physical explorations of both Kumokawa Seria and Musujime Awaki – proposed a solution.

"Imagine Breaker, would you prefer to sit with me? It would seem that the Railgun will have to take extra measures in order to ensure that this so-called Saint behaves herself."

Kamijou Touma had no difficulty in freeing himself; with a smirk, he simply fell apart. Disassembling into a flowing, swarm-like mass of dark, grey-coloured buzzing nanorobotic machine phase-matter, he surged backward, forming several twisting arcs, then resettling between Kumokawa Seria and Othinus; the former welcomed him with a warm, loving embrace. The latter took hold of him possessively.

Lessar was, to say the least, utterly taken aback.

"Sorry, Mikoto, Index. I'll make it up to you, I promise."

The Railgun girl shrugged, even as currents of electricity rose from her body. Crossing one leg over the other's thigh with the sort of elegance and class befitting a student of Tokiwadai Middle School, Mikoto merely shot Lessar an aggressive glare, then settled.

"It's fine. I'm not mad… At you."

Index, for her part, took to looking out the window; though visibly disappointed, the little nun would surely live another day.

"Welcome back, my little kohai~!" Seria excitedly proclaimed, joining the once-Magic God Othinus in making manifest her protectiveness. "You'll always be safe with your senpai~."

"Hey," Awaki greeted casually, offering a gentle wave.

"Ahem."

Oriana Thomson quickly took control of the situation; as the adult, she would be expected to lay down the law, for the moment.

"Has Saint Lessar debriefed you, Kamijou-kun? Do you actually have any idea of what's happening here? It's all a bit complicated, I admit. I haven't quite gotten everything down-pat myself. At the least, I'm at liberty to say that onee-san is a freelancer no longer~! I'll be working with the Amakusa Christians for the long-haul."

"What about Necessarius?"

Index's inquiry had come as something of a surprise; thus far, the silver-haired girl who held within her mind one hundred and three thousand Grimoires had, for the most part, kept to herself.

"That's tricky," Oriana spoke in English, a language which, like Japanese, the silver-haired nun comprehended fluently. "Necessarius is experiencing something of a schism, see. We, the Amakusa Christians, are going one way. Necessarius, for the most part, isn't going anywhere. Some smaller groups are beginning to form splinter factions, still beneath the Archbishop's grip. Needless to say, whatever those who represent Academy City's interests have told you… Well, that's not quite what's happening."

Musujime Awaki and Misaka Mikoto were entirely lost. For their own reasons these 'Science Side' girls were simply along for the ride upon the proverbial waves as they arrived and receded. Even Kumokawa Seria, despite her 'special brain' and considerable knowledge of the 'Other Side' felt out of her element.

The level zero woman spoke.

"From what I've gleaned – which, admittedly, isn't all that much – Necessarius has been at odds with the Church of England ever since a certain incident occurring in July of this year… A crack formed in Necessarius' foundation, and now, that crack spreads."

"Right you are, you beautiful creature," Oriana responded with a flirtatious grin and a seductive lick of her pink-coloured lips.

"More protests in Academy City," Awaki pointed out, showing off her smartphone, which had a news app opened – an app originating from beyond Academy City – and within there was an article present there, detailing particularly violent clashes between students in the City of Science and its military police force, Anti-Skill.

" _ACADEMY CITY AFFECTED BY GLOBAL UNREST; DEATH TOLL CLIMBS TO TWO THOUSAND"_

Masked rioters, some armed, some not stood divided against one another as depicted in several images accompanying the news article. Some among those rioters were, in fact, peaceful demonstrators; they didn't mask themselves, nor did they wield weapons. Masked, hooded rioters, however, were depicted clearly engaging Anti-Skill personnel.

Those demonstrators who didn't flee the depicted violence held some very interesting signs aloft, indeed.

_"SORCERERS CAN SAVE THE WORLD – STOP THE LIES, PROPAGANDA AND OPPRESSION"_

_"SCIENCE KILLS"_

_"GIVE US SUFFRAGE OR GIVE US DEATH"_

_"CROOKED ACADEMY CITY NO! MAGIC YES!"_

Unable to quite see from the limousine's driver's seat, Oriana Thomson seemed to struggle silently with herself as Kumokawa Seria clearly and concisely narrated the article's contents, describing its included images all the while.

"Onee-san thanks you deeply! But… they won't be able to keep the lid on this for much longer. The Sons of Taured have effectively won, already. In concept, it's not a bad thing… But I fear for the future. The Magic-Science Treaty might not be enough to prevent an all-out Magic-Science conflict."

"Wait. "Sons of Taured"? Aren't we supposed to be AGAINST them?" Kamijou Touma expressed some surprise, even as he felt none.

Just as Othinus was about to begin a lengthy explanation, there was an intense, sudden quaking; with swiftness that Kamijou Touma hadn't seen exuded by her in some time, Oriana Thomson slammed a foot down upon the limousine's breaks.

Still, there was no road, paved or otherwise. The fields seemed to stretch on forever; unless those who knew of it considered the One-Way Road which had presented itself before them.

"N-No…" Mikoto promptly seized up like a malfunctioning machine. Her eyelids widened at the mere sight of him. The Railgun girl's pupils dilated. A cold, intense sweat formed upon her brow, even as a deathly chill overtook her with such force that she thought she might lose her yet-tenuous grip on her consciousness. "No… N-N… No…"

A familiar darkness settled, there, only for the Railgun. The same blackened shroud which had enveloped her when she'd fought, fruitlessly, to save her Sisters from this monstrous animal.

Kamijou Touma saw him, too. His brow furrowed. His lips twisted upon themselves, forming an aggressive scowl.

Then, disassembling himself, falling into that flowing, darkened mist of surging nanorobotic machine phase-matter, his arms were around her; Mikoto accepted the embrace. Anything to keep her sight turned from that pale, white-haired, crimson-eyed **monster**.

"… Rest easy, Mikoto. He won't be hurting anyone again. Ever."


	30. The End of Accelerator II

That monster didn't move an inch. The Accelerator stood there, upright and at attention. The One-Way Road, he who was unrivalled, the strongest esper to ever exist. Such were the thoughts that flashed past Misaka Mikoto's higher mind as she looked upon him.

Seeing him brought her back in time. As if two enormous hands, like those of some hideous bogeyman emerging from a darkened closet grabbed her and pulled her into the inky black depths, the Railgun girl quickly found herself swallowed. Swallowed by despair. Swallowed by self-loathing. There were, of course, no outward signs of her stress.

She hadn't been able to save them. Just under half of all twenty thousand of her Sisters still lived, yes; but that wasn't good enough for the big sister who should have been able to do more. Should have, couldn't have. It would never be good enough.

Looking upon him, Mikoto could almost _see_ the thousands upon thousands of corpses piled behind him, broken, battered, bloodied. Thousands of corpses who looked identical to her.

Just never had been served, had it?

Her precious, sweet little Sisters. Girls who had done no wrong. Girls who had never asked for any of that which had been inflicted upon them from the moment the first among them had been crapped into the world. They never saw justice. This demon never answered for his crimes. It was all brushed under the rug, as if one story arc had passed into another, and all was forgotten and forgiven.

Misaka Mikoto hadn't **forgotten**. Misaka Mikoto hadn't **forgiven**.

There was simply no end to the hatred Mikoto felt for the Accelerator. The longer she looked upon him, the greater her desire to utterly destroy him grew. With her heart beating far too quickly for its own good, she inhaled swiftly, as if gasping for air after surfacing from deep waters.

"He could've stopped it! He could've said no! But he didn't! HE NEVER SAID "NO!" I **HATE** HIM!"

Sharp, furious, Mikoto's words cut through the air.

Even in the midst of this internal turmoil, Mikoto had to admit it. This was nice. Being held by _him_ , being tended to and doted on by _him_ made this easier. Kamijou's embrace tightened. He held the Railgun girl close, gently running the cold-feeling tips of his fingers through her chestnut-brown hair. Though his entire body was cold to the touch, skin and clothing alike, the Railgun girl gave herself a moment to settle into him, and enjoy the interaction.

"You're right, Mikoto. You know, I'm not entirely free of blame here myself. I let him walk out of that railyard. I let him walk away from Eastern Europe, and I let him walk away from Denmark."

Touma's embrace tightened, protectively.

"I love you so much… It's not a mistake I'm making again. He's not walking away from me. Every day Accelerator lives is another slap to your Sisters' faces, and the justice they've never gotten. What I mean to say is…"

With some reluctance, Touma broke the embrace, but not before providing the shuddering Misaka Mikoto with a gentle, affectionate kiss to her forehead.

"… Accelerator is going to **die** here."

"I'm coming with you."

The level five electromaster gripped that young man's hands, taking them into her own and looking directly into his cold, lifeless eyes. Mikoto didn't turn from them, not for a moment.

She expected some form of resistance.

She received none.

"Good."

With a firm grip on the Railgun girl's shoulder, Touma turned to the other girl in the limousine who was, however distantly, related to this matter. Musujime Awaki, the level four teleporter girl who'd worked alongside Academy City's strongest on several occasions.

"Musujime-san, any objections? If you want to take sides with him, I'm not going to hold it against you. I know you have a past, and I can respect that, to some extent."

Musujime shrugged in abject indifference. With one leg folded over the other's thigh, she appeared to be completely casual in this situation. Perhaps her repeated run-ins with Academy City's darkness had left her desensitized.

"I… I think I owe the Railgun and that half-assed teleport this one. I'm with you, Mr. He~ro. It was never that personal, anyways. We're business associates. That's the extent of what Accelerator and myself are to each other. You won't catch me getting weepy if he takes a dirt nap. I'm not blameless either. It's time I start admitting it and give a little bit of redemption a try."

The Accelerator **still** hadn't moved. He was utterly still; Kamijou couldn't even tell if Academy City's 'top dog' was even breathing. With his hands stuffed into the pockets of his pants, he stood there, that disinterested expression on his face. The same expression that monstrous animal had worn while he tortured 'Misaka Imouto' nearly to death in that dirty railyard.

How had he ever let Accelerator away with it? Had 'the old Kamijou Touma' really been that much of a pathetic, spineless, cowardly piece of filth?

"Seria? What's your take on this, senpai?"

She seemed lost in thought; yet still paid heed to her kohai's words. During this period of thought-drifting, Kumokawa Seria felt it, again. That sense that she – and others – were being silently observed. She'd felt it, first, at that Occult Market. She'd felt it several times during the flight. What _was_ this feeling?

Ultimately, Seria decided upon paying no further attention to it, choosing to answer her beloved kohai instead.

"My thoughts, Touma-kun? Attempting to circle around the Accelerator and keep driving onwards would be most unwise. One does not stand menacingly about in the path of an oncoming vehicle if they aren't actively seeking out a confrontation. The nature of the Accelerator's actions here is unknown even to me… Though, I must admit, I've heard much about the Accelerator's current role in Academy City's upper hierarchies. He is something of an attack hound. The Board of Directors, well, suffice it to say, the Board has him on quite the leash."

The Kamijou Touma of the present turned, then, to Oriana Thomson, the vehicle's driver, and then to Othinus, the former Magic God, and then to Kumokawa Seria, his stern-faced senpai.

"I'll take whatever help everyone can provide. Especially you, Lessar. You're probably one of the strongest people here right now. Are you with me?"

The former New Light Saint shot a shit-eating sneer in Touma's direction.

"I'm there, loverboy. Let's get the party started~!"

"To those who aren't particularly ready to face off against a 'person' – and I do use the term loosely, in this situation – who could bring low the armies of the world's nations, I would recommend staying close to me. If Accelerator-san knows what's good for him, he will avoid a confrontation with me. My ties with Academy City run deep."

Kumokawa Seria extended a hand welcomingly, out to the silver-haired little nun, Index.

"Index-chan, would you like to stay with Olivia-chan and myself? I'm certain Thomson-san will be more than happy to deliver us from this scene while it unfolds. Perhaps yourself and Olivia-chan can even teach me a thing or two about this wonderful 'magic' I have heard so much about, hmm~?"

"Of course. Onee-san will take care of those who aren't going to clear a path," Oriana spoke tenderly.

Kamijou Touma couldn't help but smile. Leave it to his senpai to play 'cool big sister' and try to keep the little nun's mind occupied.

"B-But… Touma…"

"My little kohai can handle himself. You need not worry about him for even a moment."

Affirmatively, the little nun's keeper nodded in her direction. He flashed her a confident, smug grin.

"She's right, Index. Don't worry about me at all. Just pretend it's another day when I'm off at school, and you're with Oth… Olivia-chan. Nothing to worry about. I promise. Would I lie to you? I love you, sweetheart."

Though she smiled warmly to Index, the way a mother might've smiled comfortingly down at her child in her efforts to reassure them and warm their hearts after awakening from a particularly dreadful night terror, Kumokawa Seria was, in truth, overwhelmed by a sense of uselessness.

Her 'special brain' hardly mattered, in this situation. As a powerless level zero esper, and one who was much better off working behind the scenes than within them, Seria found herself outside of her element. It was unfamiliar, terrifying, and, quite frankly, beyond her.

In her brief moment of desperation, Kumokawa Seria took a moment's time to remind herself of why, exactly, she had come along and thrown herself head-first into all of this.

" _I would much rather be here, at Touma-kun's side than cracking my knuckles in Academy City, worrying for him around the clock… Yes, this is where I must be. At Touma-kun's side."_

Index seemed to take Seria's offer to heart; she clambered into the back seat with both 'Olivia', Touma's 'distant relative hailing from Denmark' and her guardian's exceedingly warm-hearted upperclassmen, who quickly took the silver-haired nun into a protective, reassuring embrace. Truthfully, the little silver-haired nun had begun to trigger Seria's long-dormant maternal instincts considerably.

"Do realize what you're getting yourself into, Imagine Breaker."

Othinus wasn't feeling much better; some months ago, she could have erased the very concept of 'Accelerator' from existence merely by willing it. She had done so billions upon billions of times, when she'd held Gungnir aloft during her intricate period of questing for power. Now, she was powerless. A completely ordinary human being incapable of casting even beyond the weakest of arcane spells.

"Best of luck to you, my kohai, and all others… Touma-kun, do return safely to me. Otherwise, I will have to engage Full-On Soap Opera Mode and the world may very well not survive."

"I plan on it, senp… I mean, Seria."

With a nod, Kamijou Touma spoke his piece.

"Let's get this done. Mikoto, you and I have unfinished business we need to attend to… Let's end this. Once and for all. Turn the page, end the chapter, and close the whole book."

As Misaka Mikoto, Musujime Awaki, 'Saint' Lessar and Kamijou Touma disembarked from the limousine, Accelerator raised an eyebrow.

He took a single step forward, once the limousine began to reverse; pulling his pale, sickly-seeming hands from his pockets, Accelerator stretched his fingers.

The tension in the air was thick. Oppressive, overwhelming and forceful. It was like a physical, personified thing that pushed downwards upon the shoulders of all, making great efforts to bring all of those present down to their knees.

"I figured you'd come alone, you goddamn hero…"

The gaze of Academy City's strongest fell upon Musujime Awaki, then. His tongue clicked against the roof of his mouth in irritation.

"Move Point… Yeah. That fucking figures, I guess. So, this is how it's going to be."

Electricity leapt freely from Mikoto's body as she spread her legs, positioning herself into something of a combat stance. Her athletic form was more than prepared to burst into a sudden sprint at any moment.

"I'll never forgive you for what you did! **Never**!" Mikoto's proclamation of war was sharp enough to easily slice directly through the oppressive tension. "You're… You're **HORRIBLE**! You're nothing but an evil monster! You're a psychopath! You're **SICK**! You'll… **ACCELERATOR**! YOU'LL NEVER KNOW JUST HOW MUCH I **HATE** YOU!"

Accelerator said nothing in response.

With her arms folded across her chest, Awaki offered Academy City's 'top dog' an awkward glance, but said nothing at all.

As if it were a sword, 'Saint' Lessar drew the enormous cross from her back, wielding it effortlessly with a single hand. To an unawares observer, the weapon might've been mistaken as an exceedingly lightweight prop of some sort.

She fell to one knee, and looked to the sky.

" _Christ carried the burdens of all mankind…_ _ **Stigmata**_ _! I humbly plead for Christ's strength!"_

A spell was cast through the power of Idol Theory; someone of Saint Lessar's power and distinction needed no magic circle and no meager runes. Her physical connection with the Son of God was enough to act as a functioning catalyst. Lessar's entire body began to glow a bright, overwhelming golden-white; it emanated from within her, as if the girl had transfigured her physical self into some sort of illuminating bulb. Like so many might tendrils, glowing, golden energy surged forth from the Saint, engulfing all for hundreds of miles in all directions, however briefly.

Then, Kamijou Touma's proverbial mask was shed; arcing currents of machine phase-matter rose and fell, as the outer layer that represented his own, ideal vision of himself faded, revealing reality. That which laid beneath.

Misaka Mikoto was not struck by surprise, but rather, by sheer, unadulterated horror; she'd seen this before. She had been the first to learn of that young man's secret. Still, she reeled from the sight of it.

Musujime Awaki glanced in his direction, as the golden-white light faded, leaving behind only faint, glimmering traces of its brilliance, and gasped aloud.

Saint Lessar looked on with mere pity.

Kamijou Touma's 'true form' resembled little more than an entirely flayed human being, with bones and musculature consisting of swarming, swimming nanorobotic phase-matter. Arcing currents formed intricate ribbons which crisscrossed over one another before returning to their places within the greater hive that was Touma's form. Empty, milky-white eyes rested within their sockets, staring directly into Accelerator's own, natural-born crimson orbs.

"They finally fucking got to you, didn't they, hero?"

"I'm really not sure what you're talking about."

Kamijou Touma raised his right arm casually; his fully-replaced phase-matter body bent to his whims. His arm tightened, then sharpened itself and rose, surging, into a enormous, jagged blade of swarming, swimming nanomachines.

"Nobody "got me". They don't even realize it, but, at the end of the day, they **improved** me. Made me **stronger** than I ever was before."

Touma, once-Bearer of the Imagine Breaker strutted towards the white-haired, pallid boy he'd already faced down on three occasions with the sort of casual gait a mall shopper might've held while drifting from shop to shop.

"But, enough of that, Accel. I've been finding myself patching up a lot of my mistakes lately. When you suffer like I have, it gives you new perspective. Helps you see things differently. **You** being **alive** is, by far, my biggest mistake to date."

The clouds themselves parted. The heavens seemed to rage along with Mikoto. Her inhuman scream was a battle cry. A declaration of war. An announcement to all who heard it that she would avenge her Sisters, as she never had before. Colossal pillars of crackling lightning struck the open fields. Rising, seemingly levitating, Academy City's third strongest level five esper lived up to her name.

"Do you know what I'm doing, you dumb animal?! I don't even _need_ metal for my magnetism anymore! The iron in my blood is enough!"

Mikoto's expression seemed to twist into a manic, detached sneer. It stretched from one ear and to the other, wide, toothy. It was the expression of unleashed sadism, the nascent desire to enjoy the suffering of another, living creature. A creature who did not deserve to live.

"… And, so is yours, Accelerator! GIVE **ALL** OF IT TO ME!"

Kamijou Touma had figured out exactly what that girl was planning from the moment she'd started rising from the Earth; she intended to rip the very iron from Accelerator's blood.

But Accelerator claimed his blood's iron for himself. His capacity for vector manipulation was passive; he didn't even need to think on it for more than a moment's time. Some exceedingly minor calculations directed towards his internal organs was all it took, and nothing more; Accelerator's control over his own blood – as well as the microscopic traces of minerals and nutrients within it – remained his own.

" **DIE** , Accelerator!"

"Not happening, third-string… There's a fucking reason I'm number one, and you're number three."

Kamijou Touma was upon him, then.

"Not for much longer, you won't be."

" _HIGHMIND TERMINAL:/ FORCE PROTOCOL LAUNCH ROUTINE. "TACTICAL" SYSTEMS PROTOCOL. LAUNCHING. RECOMMENDED COMBAT PROCEDURES BASED ON SITUATIONAL FACTORS, OPPOSING COMBATANT FEATS. OPPOSING COMBATANT: ?/ACCELERATOR._

" _COMBAT PROCEDURES: REVERSAL OF COMBATANT'S RELIANCE ON AUTOMATIC REFLECTION VIA SWIFT WITHDRAWAL OF PHYSICAL ASSAULT PRIOR TO IMPACT. CALCULATING LIKELYHOOD OF OPPOSING COMBATANT'S UNTIMELY DEMISE… SUCCESSFULLY CALCULATED. LIKELYHOOD OF OPPOSING COMBATANT'S UNTLIMELY DEMISE, NINETY-NINE POINT NINETY-NINE PERCENT._

" _Reversal of his automatic reflection… A glitch in his system."_

The Railgun pulled entire swathes of earth up, ripping the fields apart. Soil, grass, and the dangling roots of subterranean plant life found their way into the air.

"Musujime-san!"

"Won't do much… But I'm on it, Railgun."

The entire mass was teleported against the Accelerator; instantly, it was reflected. As soon as so much as a single molecule of the earthen mass touched his flesh, the 'top dog's' passive reflection kicked into its highest gear. He hardly even needed to move a muscle. Lessar's own repeated strikes were instantly reflected back at her, her own momentum utilized as a weapon.

Kamijou Touma passed harmlessly through the reflected, earthen mass; breaking himself down into swarming currents of machine phase-matter by temporarily weakening his body's magnetic connections, at speeds incomprehensible to the human eye he closed the distance between himself and that walking, pallid testament to his failures.

Accelerator leapt backwards, manipulating kinetic momentum beneath his lower body; Saint Lessar's enormous cross slammed where he'd stood mere moments ago with such force that vast, subterranean caverns were exposed by the rumbling fissure which came about as a result.

He wasn't, however, able to evade Kamijou Touma's strike; at the last possible moment, just as impact initially occurred, the swarming, human-shaped mass of machine phase-matter yanked his arm back.

The sheer force of the blow was enough to send Accelerator careening backward; he struck the earth repeatedly, his body flailing. Wracked by pain, his nose violently broken, bent to one side, Academy City's 'top dog' found himself in a familiar position. Rising from the ground, shuddering. His weak, spindly limbs were barely able to lift his body's weight.

"Fucking piece of **shit**!"

"Language, Accel, language. This is one thing I've noticed about you "all-powerful" types," Touma remarked, swiftly approaching the rising Accelerator. "You boast too much, and think too little."

Another blow came; it struck Accelerator's chin. Pulled backwards at the last possible moment, Kamijou Touma's arm reeled as the kinetic force of the blow landed; Academy City's 'strongest' was tossed into the air. His teeth clattered together, and several found themselves chipped. Landing, unceremoniously with a solid thud, Kamijou Touma was upon him once more. The once-Bearer of the Imagine Breaker did not relent.

"Think on this, Accel. I'm going to make you feel everything Mikoto's beautiful, innocent little Sisters felt. A million times over. You'll be screaming for mercy by the time I'm through, and, guess what? Take a guess! Really! No? Fine. I won't give you any. Just like you never gave _them_ any."

And the Accelerator stopped relenting, as well.

There was a colossal burst of pure, white light; it heralded the emergence of enormous, feathery wings. Like those of an angel. As white as snow, the feathery wings beat against the air. They lifted Accelerator from the earth below. A golden-white halo floated just above his head's crown, gleaming like a miniature sun.

There was no maniacal laughter. There was no boasting, and there were no threats. Accelerator descended once more, when the soles of his cheap trainers struck the earth, his enormous, feathery wings slamming into the vast, open fields.

Saint Lessar stared forward, then turned to those she fought alongside.

"This foe is beyond us," Lessar stated with uncharacteristic seriousness. "We really should turn back."

The invisible presence – that which had continually caught Kumokawa Seria's attention, all the way from the Occult Market in Academy City to the present, in England – made itself known.

" **He isn't the only angel around here**!"

Long, bright golden hair reached past her waist. A lock, however, was tied off to the side with a hairclip, upon which rested an ornamental bead. As if they were burning, enormous, golden wings – formed from lashing tendrils of golden light – surged from her back, licking at the atmosphere. Her glowing eyes' colouration matched that of her hair. Garbed in the dark blue uniform of Kirigaoka Girls' Academy, complete with that uniform's long-sleeved blazer, a colossal, golden sword was clutched in her hands' grip. Outwards from its blade there was a vast, comforting illumination.

The sword was this girl's will to fight made manifest. With each passing moment it became greater.

Only the presence of so many powerful espers, with powerful Personal Realities – and, therefore, powerful AIM Fields – permitted Kazakiri Hyouka to exist here, beyond Academy City's walls.

Without so much as another word, Hyouka charged.

Angel clashed with angel, there. Accelerator's snowy white wings slammed against Hyouka's own golden wings; the latter's blade cleaved through one of the former's wings, but such was not enough to win the war. Merely a battle.

"T-Touma!"

It was the voice of Misaka Mikoto; the Railgun girl was at his side. Though she was disturbed by his new, 'true' form, those thoughts were thrown to the wayside. Distracting and ultimately unimportant.

"Mikoto, stay close. How are you holding up? I love you. Don't forget that."

"I _…_ I love you too. Let me magnetize you."

"…?"

"I'll magnetize your body. Keep you close to him; then, you can do that thing with your own swords. You know? With the "zeeee… nunununuuu". You _know_ what I mean!"

That was certainly an idea, wasn't it? While Hyouka – who'd seemingly performed some sort of Deus Ex Machina and appeared from nowhere – battered Accelerator from the front, Kamijou, with his new and improved self, could strike from the back.

He nodded, then. Kamijou Touma turned from her; his body's magnetic connections warped, and, on command, his machine phase-matter arced, surged and split. His hands, as they'd been, extended outwards, sharpened, then solidified into sharpened, gleaming blades.

The Railgun girl focused all of her mental effort – that which she could muster in her considerably frazzled state, at least – and lifted Kamijou Touma from the ground, slowly, cautiously. The ease at which Mikoto could magnetically 'reach' and manipulate him was not unlike the sort of feedback she'd received while casually manipulating any other metallic object through her magnetic grip.

Kazakiri Hyouka and Accelerator continued their wordless brawl; neither showed signs of giving in. Neither showed signs of slowing, and neither was ready to throw in the proverbial towel. Every time he would attempt to dispel her with the simplest of calculations, she would reconstitute in mere moments.

Cracks were beginning to form in the colossal, white wings protruding from the upper back of Academy City's strongest. Their structural stability had been compromised. Of course, Accelerator merely tapped into and borrowed this power; Kazakiri Hyouka was born of it.

"Tch. I remember you from Russia, you fucking brat. You tried fighting Gabriel."

"You should never have left Russia alive for all that you've done!"

"… Word's getting around, I take it."

Accelerator wasn't disagreeing.

Maneuvered around, lifted and lowered by Misaka Mikoto, Kamijou Touma struggled to find the perfect mark; if the strike wasn't instantaneous, it would all be for naught. Accelerator's control over the very laws of physics themselves, through his manipulation of vectors – as alien a concept as it might've been to the average human being – was such that no mere flesh wound from which his body could possibly heal would be anywhere near enough.

" _HIGHMIND TERMINAL:/ FORCE PROTOCOL LAUNCH ROUTINE. "TACTICAL" SYSTEMS PROTOCOL. LAUNCHING. RECOMMENDED COMBAT PROCEDURES BASED ON SITUATIONAL FACTORS, OPPOSING COMBATANT FEATS. OPPOSING COMBATANT: ?/ACCELERATOR._

" _COMBAT PROCEDURES: PERSONAL REALITY ORIGINATES WITHIN THE BRAIN. TOTAL BRAIN DEATH RESULTS IN TERMINATION OF PERSONAL REALITY._

" _That makes sense. Strike the brain. Slice it apart, tear it apart. Without a functioning brain, there's no Accelerator. Just an empty shell."_

The battle waged between Kazakiri Hyouka and the Accelerator had taken to the skies; Kamijou would be forced to bide his time and await their descent.

Musujime Awaki and Saint Lessar hung back with Misaka Mikoto, observing the goings on.

Golden blade clashed against white wings, again and again. Though Hyouka made efforts to drive her sword into Accelerator, or otherwise dismember him, the 'top dog's' wings' capacity to, seemingly, predict the artificial angel's every move rendered such efforts fruitless.

"How **could** you?!" Hyouka exclaimed, driving the edge of her sword _through_ Accelerator's wings; pulling it upward with such force that the air itself exploded, Hyouka was forced away. She returned, never relenting, only strengthening her blows.

"You'd never fucking understand!" Was Accelerator's response.

In some twisted way – a way which certainly made Mikoto feel quite sick with herself – she enjoyed this. Seeing that monster, the Accelerator, forced into a proverbial corner in this way, being repeatedly battered and struck by a foe who could keep pace with him provided something of a cathartic release for the Railgun girl. She experienced his downfall through the actions of another, vicariously; and not for the first time.

With any hope, this would be the _last_ time.


	31. The End of Accelerator III

February 10th, 2004. 5:03 PM.

Despite their best, combined efforts, neither Tsuchimikado Motoharu nor the many-faced Aztec magician, Etzali, had managed to turn up even a single lead. For all intents and purposes, their quarry had all but disappeared; she might as well have vanished into a puff of smoke.

"I don't feel like you're taking this seriously enough." Motoharu spoke aloud, mania in his voice. The spy grabbed Etzali by either of his shoulders. The Backstabbing Blade's digits dug into the Aztec magician's suit jacket, wrinkling it considerably beneath the considerable pressure they exerted. "See, here, whether Accel-chan comes back empty-handed, or with a confirmed kill, if that clone of his can't be accounted for…"

"I'm aware of the circumstances." Brushing the spy's hands from his suit jacket like they were so much dirt, Etzali rolled his shoulders and aggressively sighed. Leaning against the surface of the nearby Dark Matter jet, the Aztec magician, wearing the false façade he was so fond of wearing stuffed either of his hands into his suit pants' pockets. "There's something you haven't considered, however, Tsuchimikado. What if Accelerator _doesn't_ come back? It's always a possibility."

"Hah."

Sneering, Tsuchimikado continued to cast his gaze all about, here and there, in search of a certain clone. Someone like Misaka Worst wasn't all that easy to miss; and yet, she'd gone missing without so much as a single trace.

"Good joke. Is this how you handle tight spots? Cracking jokes? It's admirable, in its own way, I guess."

There were no further words exchanged between the two GROUP operatives.

* * *

February 10th, 2004. 5:15 PM.

Being distant from earshot permitted the malicious-minded clone of Misaka Mikoto, the girl who was intended to be used as a repository of the vast MISAKA Network's emotional and mental negativity finally took the skies. Repeatedly detonating the oxygen surrounding her form, Misaka Worst utilized the sheer force to propel herself, accelerating perpetually with each individual burst.

The open fields, with their swaying, seemingly endless expanses of natural, healthy-green grasslands left little in the way of potential obstacles for Misaka Worst. Moreover, the possibility of becoming lost was minimized. This place, this 'England', was nothing at all like Academy City, with its winding mazes of urban jungle.

She was on the right path. The malicious-minded clone's brow furrowed. A slight frown tugged at her face. Worst had every reason to be concerned, and, more to the point, upset.

She'd heard it all.

" _Tou-san_ _ **can't**_ _kill the Savior… Misaka won't allow it. Misaka normally wouldn't care… Misaka felt this before. Misaka felt this in Russia, when she first met Tou-san… Misaka knows this feeling too well. In a way, Misaka revels in it."_

Worst didn't merely monologue to herself. Another answered within her mind. Another who was part of this hivemind to which nearly ten thousand unique, thinking individuals were interconnected at once.

" _Misaka believes Accelerator is acting only out of desperation and concern for the Control Tower and the Malicious One, Misaka explains, attempting to rationalize Accelerator's sudden change of heart."_

" _Hush, ten thousand thirty-two. Misaka doesn't need your babbling right now. You wouldn't understand. Misaka feels things you can't. Not even the Control Tower can feel what Misaka feels."_

There was a monstrous explosion, then; something white. It emanated, forming into the shape' of a dome. It expanded outwards, omnidirectional and terrible to look upon. It was as white as the Accelerator's very own hair.

Worst followed it. She followed the continuous reverberations, surging across and over the expanses of field as she turned in place, then detonated the oxygen around her form once more to accelerate in another direction. Towards the explosion, which was only just beginning to taper off. White, stringy tendrils lashed at the atmosphere itself. They wrestled violently with tendrils of golden-white.

Misaka Worst couldn't have immediately known it, but, she witnessed a battle between angels on Earth. One who was born of that power, and one who appropriated it for his own purposes.

The world itself seemed to shake. Just as Worst nearly lost her nerve while in midair, a sight caught the malicious-minded clone's eye that made both of her eyes' lids widen.

It was her 'boyfriend', the one with whom she could sate her lust, when it became bothersome. Her guardian. The pallid, white-haired boy who was originally intended to be seen by her as a father figure, an adoptive protector.

The feelings Misaka Worst held in her darkened heart were complex. Much more complex than a simple "all's well, and you're forgiven" after their meeting in Russia. The vast majority of the MISAKA Network – its 'Control Tower' included, forgave him. Looked the other way, accepted what had been wrought upon them, and accepted Accelerator as a broken spirit, groomed from childhood by Academy City's darkest elements for a very specific purpose.

They couldn't feel what Worst could feel. They were simply incapable of it. Even if those Sisters had wanted to, they couldn't. This was Worst's function. To feel _for_ them.

And feel she did. Feel she always had.

Repeatedly, his limp form slammed into the grass, rolling, crashing, before finally coming to a rest from which he, Accelerator, Academy City's 'top dog' did not embrace. Violently shuddering, he rose.

" **ACCELERATOR**!"

Despite herself, even as her temples violent throbbed and she experienced the desire to regurgitate, Misaka Worst was at his side in less than a moment's time. With swiftness unrivalled, the clone accelerated her way towards him, and landed upon the grass with a vicious skid that tore up entire swathes of the natural, green outgrowth.

"Worst… Worst, what the FUCK?! What the FUCK ARE YOU DOING HERE?!"

"Misaka followed you! Misa—"

" **SHUT UP**! You fucking idiot!"

Still shuddering, nearly collapsing beneath the weight of his body, Academy City's strongest spat out a stringy globule of lifeblood, and a chipped tooth.

"What's this then, Accel?"

That voice was Kamijou Touma's. Yet, it did not originate from Kamijou Touma. Misaka Worst _knew_ Kamijou Touma, the spikey-haired boy that the entire Misaka Network, those which yet lived, recognized as 'the Savior'. The living hero who had brought an end to the Level Six Shift experiments. The hero who had humbled the Accelerator. The hero who had saved nearly ten thousand lives.

Misaka Worst did not see Kamijou Touma.

She saw, instead, an abomination. A swarming, human-shaped abomination of machine phase-matter that walked towards her boyfriend and protector with two jagged, bloodied blade-like protrusions jutting from his wrists, where hands should have been, but weren't.

Laying eyes upon the clone – who he recognized as resembling a slightly different, perhaps matured Misaka Mikoto – Kamijou Touma reappeared. His outer layer of phase-matter worked itself into place, darting about like small insects striding upon the surface of a still body of water. Flattened, dark-coloured hair formed, as did Kamijou Touma's natural skin and even his full set of clothing.

Yet, those blades remained. This fact seemed to perturb even Touma himself, who gave either of his hands several, repeated shakes. The protruding, jagged weapons clashed with his overall 'normal' appearance.

"Hey, woah. Smooth moves. Smooth moves. It's me, Worst. I don't blame you for being scared; I'd be scared, too. I'd be scared pretty bad. I'm not at my most handsome right now, that's for sure. But it's me. It's Kamijou-san. I won't hurt you. I won't _let_ anyone hurt you."

He was not alone. Misaka Worst's eyes darted from one individual to another, none of whom she recognized.

Almost.

Worst, of course, recognized her elder sister. The big sister who still held the weight of over ten thousand lost souls upon her shoulders, her pain and grief still as deep as the day she'd learned of those horrible experiments, and of her beloved, precious little Sisters.

"Onee-sama…?"

Misaka Mikoto approached, her head bowed. Slowly, repeatedly, tears dripped from her shuttered eyelids. They fell onto the grass below, individual tears sliding almost elegantly downwards along individual, tall blades of grass.

"Your big sister is right here."

Electricity crackled around the third-ranked level five esper. It formed into enormous, arcing masses which rose and fell like the tides of an ocean wracked by a storm's howling winds.

Musujime Awaki, Saint Lessar, and even a stern-faced Kazakiri Hyouka stayed their respective hands.

"Stupid glitches."

Kamijou Touma continued to shake his hands; eventually, he found success. Some moments passed before the protruding blades fell apart, descending into two masses of surging nanorobotic machine phase-matter. It took some few moments more for natural-seeming, humanlike hands to reform in the place of those jagged weapons of war.

Words were lost to him. He didn't quite know what to say.

"Accelerator, you can't do this. Misaka won't let you. Misaka knows why this is happening, and you're an idiot for getting caught up in their schemes. Misaka won't ever forgive you, if you hurt the Savior."

"To protect you fucking brats…"

Accelerator stared Kamijou Touma down directly. He ignored those who weren't his primary foe, the one who had, so many times, deprived him rightfully of his title as 'top dog' of all espers.

"… I'll just have to fucking accept being hated by you!"

Accelerator, manipulating kinetic momentum beneath him, rushed forward. He rushed forward with such blinding speed that he ceased to be human, on a physical level. He had become a blur of white, something which could only be vaguely comprehended, but not witnessed by the human mind.

This mattered not to Kamijou Touma, who no longer possessed such a thing. His heightened state of cosmic awareness permitted him to comprehend this situation with logic, and logic alone. Unrestrained by weakening coils of human consciousness – panic, fear, and nervousness – Kamijou casually 'blocked' these emotions from interfering with his efforts.

There was only one synthetic emotion which Kamijou Touma needed his higher, forcibly-ascended mind to experience in this moment.

Rage.

Misaka Mikoto had darted around, avoiding the oncoming Accelerator altogether. With her arms open, weeping freely, she closed the distance between herself and her younger sister.

In a moment, she held Worst tightly in her arms. Mikoto tightened her embrace, and brought her precious, beloved little sister down upon the grass with her.

"J-Just h-h-hold me, W-Worst… D-Don't… Look… W-Whatever you d-do… D-Don't look. B… B-Big sister is right here."

"Onee-sama! Get off Misaka! Misaka has to…"

"Worst."

Despite the conflict raging behind them, just out of Mikoto's sight, she responded merely by pressing either of her hands to the back of her younger sister's head, and cocooning her own clone gently in her arms.

"Just close your eyes, o-okay? Big sister… Big sister won't let anything happen to you. I've already f-f… f-failed you… Too many times. I-It… It won't happen… Again."

Worst said nothing more.

Even as Kazakiri Hyouka and Saint Lessar descended into the fray, joining Kamijou Touma. Musujime Awaki, perhaps in an effort to 'contribute', teleported enormous, torn chunks of earth at Accelerator, fruitlessly. At the very least, Awaki's efforts occupied Accelerator's wings, partially.

It all happened in a moment's flash; Touma's hand 'fell apart', descended into a mass of swarming, surging machine-phase matter, which then reformed into a jagged, protruding blade, phase-matter hardening and becoming exceedingly dense. Swung in an upward arc, only to be reeled back with enough force to produce an audible snapping in the air at the absolute last moment, Kamijou hit his mark.

Accelerator's arm, starting at the shoulder.

The automatic reflection Academy City's 'top dog' had come to rely upon had been turned against him.

" _How…?"_

Not by Kihara Amata, nor any other Kihara, for that matter. None who knew of that monstrous man's 'reversal technique' were present. As far as Accelerator had known, Kamijou had never met Kihara Amata once.

And, yet, Kihara Amata's 'reversal technique' had been employed against him. Not a mere punch to the face, nor a blow to the gut, nor a series of repeated, harsh kicks.

Accelerator had lost his own right arm.

The bloodied, mangled stump where his right arm had once rested sprayed bursts of lifeblood. Nerve endings dangled, limp. What bone remained, having found itself exposed rather unceremoniously, had been sliced, clean. A perfect cut.

Ignoring the pain as best he could, Accelerator skidded to a halt, forcing the kinetic momentum beneath him to cease. Quickly manipulating the vectors of his own body's bloodstream, Academy City's strongest prevented himself from bleeding out, there and then.

But, even with all of his own vast power, he couldn't reattach a limb. He couldn't simply slap his arm back into place, manipulate its vectors, and restore the shredded nerves and cleaved bone.

With his vector manipulation occupied, his Personal Reality busy focusing on redirecting the flow of his blood throughout his entire body, another had taken advantage of Accelerator's vulnerability.

Just as a certain, deceased researcher had **tried** to, in the recent past.

Unlike Amai Ao, whose efforts had spectacularly failed, Musujime Awake succeeded.

She teleported a mass of sharpened rock directly into Accelerator's back. Past his flesh, deep into his musculature. For the first time in a very long time, he felt pain. Pain that was so deeply unbearable, pain that was so unspeakably horrid, he couldn't even speak.

The manic, insane howl which was ripped, then, from Accelerator's throat seemed to echo all throughout the vast, open fields. The grass swayed beneath it, as if rising and bowing in the presence of his rage.

A small frown tugged at Awaki's lips.

_" **You** deserve it."_

"What did I tell you, Accel?" As Kamijou Touma casually strutted towards his foe, his arm fell once again into surging, arcing masses of machine phase-matter. Like a swarm of flesh-eating insects, the mass travelled to Accelerator's dismembered limb, and firstly, stripped away fabric, then, stripped clean the flesh and musculature. The mass worked its way through solid bone, reducing the severed arm to little more than dust. Rejoining their main mass, the nanorobotic matter settled, and reformed into a functional hand. "What did I tell you about the pain I'm going to make you feel?"

Misaka Mikoto had ensured that her younger sister's eyes had not only remained closed, but obscured by the presence of her chest. Holding Worst close to her, repeatedly running her fingertips through the malevolent clone's hair with the sort of gentle, tender touch she would've given onto her own infant child, if she'd had one, Mikoto did her best to offer assurance.

" **Onee-sama**!" The silence between them was broken. Worst was attempting to free herself from her elder sister's will and grasp. "Onee-sama, let Misaka go! Misaka has to… Misaka has to save Accelerator!"

She saw her guardian's stump, where an arm had once been.

The clone's eyelids nearly split open, so wide did they distance from one another. Worst's pupils dilated at the sight. The shredded musculature which remained, barely clinging to the stump. The nerve endings dangling, limp. The jutting bone. It was all far, far too much for Misaka Worst to look upon.

"Onee-sama… **ONEE-SAMA**!"

"I know, Worst!" Mikoto exclaimed, nearly screaming in her own grief. She fought her younger sister, forcing her into an embrace from which she didn't intend to depart. "I **know** it hurts! I **KNOW**! BUT THIS **HAS** TO **END**!"

Their eyes locked. Younger sister and elder sister stared into one another, perhaps past one another. In Misaka Worst, Misaka Mikoto saw herself. In Misaka Mikoto, Misaka Worst saw what she would never be.

"… Onee-sama… You're right. Misaka has been clinging to something that was fucking stupid. Misaka can't believe she was such an idiot this whole time. Maybe Misaka didn't want to be alone. Maybe Misaka deluded herself. Onee-sama… Misaka… Misaka… Misaka is hurting. Misaka is hurting... So much."

This uncharacteristic, candid explanation of her feelings left Worst's big sister utterly taken aback. All she could do, in the end, was tighten her embrace, and quietly weep.

"I-It's o-okay, Worst… It's… I-It's all g-going to be okay. Big sister is going to… T-Take care of you from n-now on."

Kamijou Touma's approach hastened. "Even after it's all said and done, you're still causing them pain," he stayed clearly and plainly. "Look what you're doing to Worst, just by existing. You're the lowest scum this Earth has to offer. Down in there somewhere, in that sadistic, black heart of yours, I think you know it too, Accel."

Both of Kamijou's hands, manipulated by his passively-generated magnetic field, reformed into those jagged, protruding blades. Their surfaces swarmed with currents of machine phase-matter.

"For what it's worth, I'm sorry it had to be like this, Accel. Maybe, in some other place and time, we could've been friends. Just not one to throw my hands up in the air and monologue about saving smiles, anymore… You're not leaving me with a lot of choices. Not as I am now, knowing what I know. With this freedom."

Aleister Crowley, in his Windowless Building, in the heart of Academy City's seventh school district did not possess vision which stretched beyond Academy City's walls. UNDER_LINE had not been dispersed out into the greater world.

Of course, he didn't need it. It, of course, had been he who ultimately provided the authorization for the kill order on that which remained of Kamijou Touma passed up through the proverbial food chain of Gladio-Oculus.

" _If matters go south with the Main Plan, there is always the Spare Plan."_

Accelerator didn't even bother to try and dislodge the sharpened, jagged stone lodged within his musculature. With every slight movement he made, it tore into him, tearing tendons and shredding his body. His enormous, white, feathery wings retracted, withering and falling away like dying leaves dropping from the branches of a tree. The halo above his head dispersed, leaving nothing more than sparkling dust behind in its wake.

What had happened to Kamijou Touma, his idealized hero? The one who had inspired him to walk the path to redemption? The one who had taught him that this world was much more than a shithole, filled to the brim with absolute evil?

That goddamn hero he knew, Kamijou Touma, never would have approached him like this, with deadly intent. Kamijou Touma never would have spoken the way this horrid, sick mockery spoke.

Yet, there were traces of Kamijou Touma within this parody of him. This Kamijou Touma still fought for justice, for his ideals. Even if those ideals had been twisted and warped. He was still, in his own way, trying to play the hero.

"You fucking hero…"

Accelerator spat a globule of lifeblood from his mouth.

"Promise me something."

Kamijou's approach was unabated. He walked as a paragon of confidence, complete truth to his own self. With each step he took, Academy City's 'top dog', the strongest one there was, witnessed the approach of his own death.

"Depends on what that is, Accel. Don't expect me to suddenly go bending over backwards for a murderous piece of garbage like you."

The malice in Kamijou's voice struck Accelerator harder than any physical blow could have.

"The brats… Take care of the fucking brats. Make sure nothing happens to them. Academy City is going to be fucking gunning for them as soon as they realize I'm… Gone."

"You're surrendering to me, then?"

"Yeah. End this shit. Fucking end it, if you're not a coward, hero. Don't walk away from your fucking responsibilities."

"Pleasure's all mine."

Kamijou Touma's higher, forcibly ascended mind quickly analyzed the situation, and Accelerator's brain. A single, microscopic nanorobotic phase-matter structure departed from the main mass, and buzzed silently around the 'top dog's' head. Guided by its master's ascended mind, it faithfully delivered onto Touma that which he required.

A complete scan of the Accelerator's undamaged brain.

" _HIGHMIND TERMINAL:/ FORCE PROTOCOL LAUNCH ROUTINE. "SCAN" SYSTEMS PROTOCOL. LAUNCHING. SCAN COMPLETED. RESULTS COMPILED FOR VIEWING._

" _Thanks, uh, me. So, that's where the Personal Reality is generated. The pineal gland. Accelerator's is overdeveloped. Explains why his ability grew in power the way it did. With that in mind… It's time to get stabby."_

Faster than that which could be comprehended by the human brain, Touma thrust his jagged, protruding blade-arm outwards; its hooked, jutting tip was retracted at the absolute last moment.

Again, Accelerator's own automatic reflection, that which he partially relied upon to maintain his status as Academy City's strongest was turned against him.

The jagged tip pierced his forehead. It pierced his skull, causing bone fragments to shatter and forcibly eject outwards from the point of impact.

But, Accelerator did not die. Even as his pineal gland was pierced by the echoing force, he lived on.

His capacity for generating a Personal Reality, however, did not.

He who was the most powerful among nearly two and a half million individuals, the vast majority of whom were fellow espers, had been reduced, effectively, to the status of a level zero. A failure. A completely inert human, no different than any other average human being.

Exposed to the sun's UV rays for the first time, Accelerator found his very skin to burn and crackle beneath it. The heat, which he certainly felt was unnatural, provided a painful, unfamiliar experience. His eyelids slid closed as he experienced the full force of the sunlight's bright, glowing rays for the first time, without the protection of his esper ability.

Darkness was being burnt away by the presence of light.

" _How fucking poetic."_

Accelerator recognized this for what it was, and smirked, weakly. Even as the simple act of doing so pained him.

This was retribution. This was revenge. This was Kamijou Touma's 'new' way of meting out justice. It was humiliation. A complete stripping of his vast power, that which originated from within his mind, his very own Personal Reality. Being robbed of that which made Accelerator, Accelerator, was a fitting punishment.

He had robbed over ten thousand living, breathing, thinking human beings of their lives in his own, selfish pursuit of godhood. For whatever reasons he might have held within his heart and mind. The Accelerator could tell himself, over and over, that he'd only sought to _save_ lives by transcending level five, and reaching effective godhood. **Level six**.

" _That's fucking shit, and you know it."_

And, so, Accelerator would be robbed.

"I'll protect Last Order and Worst. Of course, I will. Even if they hate me for doing what I'm about to do to you. Did you think I wouldn't? What did you think I was _going_ to do? Go prance around, peachy happy, and completely forget about them? No."

"That's all I can ask for from you."

Without a personal reality, without his ability, his namesake – **Accelerator** – there was nothing to stop Kamijou Touma from lifting Academy City's once-strongest from the grass below by his neck. Kamijou's cold digits enwrapped the Accelerator's spindly neck easily.

They pushed inwards with such force that Academy City's 'top dog' was almost immediately robbed of the capacity to inhale so much as a single breath of fresh air. Struggling, wheezing, his physically underdeveloped form began to thrash wildly in panic. Slowly, his eyes, with their crimson irises, physically degenerated further, becoming bloodshot.

In time, lifeblood began to trickle from Accelerator's tear ducts, combining with his own, warm, wet tears as they dripped downward, along his cheeks.

Kamijou Touma did not shy away from this act of brutality he brought upon the Accelerator, nor did he particularly revel in it. This was merely that which _should have_ been done, but _hadn't_ been. It was the completion of unfinished business.

Musujime Awaki and Kazakiri Hyouka were not made of such stern stuff, and turned from the sight. Saint Lessar seemed more perturbed than anything else. Saint Lessar, unsure of what to even do, merely stood still.

"Don't look," Mikoto repeated to her younger sister, ensuring Worst's face remained firmly pressed into her shirt. It was soaking wet, drenched, in fact, with her clone's tears. Mikoto hardly cared. It was entirely replaceable. Worst, as a unique individual onto herself, one among her dearly beloved, precious Sisters was _not_. "B-Big sister's g-got you."

His pallid flesh overcome by the presence of blue-purple blotches, his lips unnaturally darkened, Accelerator, Academy City's once-strongest fell limp, held aloft by his own, idealistic hero.

"This is for the Sisters, "strongest one."

With a final, agonizing _crunch,_ Accelerator's spindly neck was snapped. Kamijou pushed with force, continually, steadily applying greater pressure, until he was convinced that the Accelerator would not suddenly rise and lunge upon him, escaping from death's grip.

Like he was little more than so much trash being tossed into the back of a garbage disposal truck, Touma tossed Academy City's 'top dog' to the swaying, healthy green grass below. Falling, limp and lifeless with a thud, there was nothing left. Only an empty, hollow carcass, with a dead brain and a heart that had ceased beating.

As if he wished to ensure finality in this moment, Kamijou thrust a single, jutting blade-arm deep into Accelerator's head. It crashed through his forehead, parting bone effortlessly and cleaving through grey matter. The blade's jagged, gleaming edge pierced _through_ the back of Accelerator's head, causing lifeblood to spill from both wounds, entry and exit, like the flowing currents of a small river.

There were no celebrations to be had. There was to be no cheering, nor congratulations.

Touma retracted his bladed arm, and observed with caution as it resettled, masses of arcing, swarming nanorobotic machine phase-matter reforming into a functional hand, complete with its outer sheen of humanlike phase-matter.

Despite herself, Lessar offered up a silent prayer.

Musujime Awaki merely shook her head, as if to say, _"what a mess."_

Kazakiri Hyouka nodded affirmatively, her expression stern. Her usual, characterizing kindness had all but faded in this moment, falling away, revealing that which laid behind the mask; someone who quietly empathized with the ten thousand lost souls mowed down, bulldozed, butchered, _obliterated_ by this monster, the Accelerator. Hyouka seemed to approve even more than Touma himself did. Perhaps, because she, like them, was 'artificial'.

Touma didn't know what he was supposed to feel.

" _Is this victory? It doesn't feel much like victory… I can't let Worst see this. She'll be all sorts of traumatized…"_

"Kamijou."

Awaki was the first to break the silence that had descended. A bold and particularly brave act, Touma felt. She approached him and their respective gazes met, as two equals observing one another.

Touma spoke nothing in response, but merely raised an eyebrow quizzically at Move Point, whose own approach had been as unabated as his own. She strode with purpose, purposefully going out of her way to avoid looking down at the destroyed corpse that had once been her 'coworker'.

"I don't have much room to talk; I was a part of this too, you know. But this was a long time coming. If it wasn't you, someone else would have, somewhere along the line. This was necessary."

Kamijou could see the limousine that had reversed considerably as the battle had unfolded returning. It parted wide swathes of grass in its path as it quietly approached, its tires occasionally rising and falling as they clambered over sections of naturally hilly terrain. Occasionally, the vehicle swerved to avoid a chunk of dislodged earth that had been tossed haphazardly.

"You're right, Musujime."

"I know I _really_ don't have a place to talk about this, but, **they** had every intention of letting him get away with it."

Before Touma could respond, another offered their response in his stead.

"You were in a dark place, Musujime-san. You made mistakes. I-I… I'm sure my Sisters forgive you. I already h-have… But… **Him**?"

Currents of electricity were loosed from Misaka Mikoto's hunched form. Still, she clung tightly to her beloved younger sister, Worst.

"He… **He** … Didn't just make _mistakes!_ He… can't **ever** be forgiven! Even now, I **STILL** CAN'T! I won't **EVER**!"

That made enough sense to Kamijou. Accelerator's end wasn't going to magically bring Misaka Mikoto's smile back. It wasn't going to help her recover from all of this. Perhaps, she never _would_ recover from all of this.

"As a Saint and as a Christian," Lessar began, her tone of voice uncharacteristically morose, "I'll see to the burial."

"No, I don't think you will," Touma stated flatly. "Doesn't deserve one."

"I stand firmly with Kamijou-san," Hyouka remarked. This mean spirit that seemed to have come over her disturbed Kamijou, but ultimately, he declined bringing that particular incoming burst of data to any attention. Without Accelerator's exceedingly powerful AIM Field, she seemed to find difficulty in maintaining her existence. Hyouka repeatedly 'flashed', disappearing and reappearing in brief intervals.

"S-So do I," Mikoto snarled, electricity jumping from her shoulders, freely crackling and heating the atmosphere around her.

"Compromise?"

Musujime Awaki found herself the mediator; if no one else was going to, she'd have to take charge and ensure infighting didn't result.

"Burial at sea."

That seemed to be an agreeable compromise. None objected, at the very least.

"My ability will handle it," she spoke, making an effort to explain the specifics as best she could, given her muddled state of mind.

With a simple tap to the corpse's limp arm, Awaki performed the necessary calculations – but only after saying _"goodbye'",_ quietly and under her breath. In that moment, a corpse with a gaping mouth, widened eyelids and discolored, pallid skin, the Move Point girl didn't know _what_ to think of her former coworker. Was he a monster? Had he been just as much a victim as the Sisters? Had he been something in between?

The corpse was gone in the time it would have taken the average person to blink, sent plummeting into the crashing waves of the North Sea. Occasional trips with her sea-faring parents had permitted Awaki to understand, and visualize the exact location she'd 'dropped off' the limp, lifeless corpse within.

There would be nothing left. The sea, and all of the sea's carnivorous lifeforms would consume the corpse before long.

Academy City's 'top dog', the strongest esper on Earth, one who could have effortlessly fought off every army of every nation on the entire planet without lifting a single finger, reduced to _fish food_.

"It's over…" Mikoto muttered, finally releasing her grip upon her younger sister, Misaka Worst, even as Worst didn't relinquish her own. Her arms fell limp at her sides. Mental and emotional exhaustion overcame Academy City's third-ranked level five. Bewildered, still trying to understand if any of this was even real, she muttered, "You did it. I really can't believe… I can't… You actually _did it_. He's… He's dead. Accelerator's… Gone. Just like that."

Pulling up alongside the formed group, several doors of Oriana Thomson's commandeered limousine were opened from within the vehicle.

"It's over, Mikoto," Touma spoke, offering what reassurance he could in this unprecedented situation. Reality, it seemed, was beginning to only _just_ set in. A level five had died. A level five esper was no longer in the world. Snuffed out, like a candle's flame muted by the swift cupping of a hand's digits. Accelerator, the number one strongest esper, he who was untouchable, immutable, omnipotent - one above all - lived no longer. "He'll never hurt anyone again."

Misaka Mikoto rushed into that not-boy's cold arms, embraced him tightly, and simply held him. She held onto him for dear life. Mikoto held onto Touma as if her very life depended on it.

In a development she couldn't have predicted, the embrace widened, and another joined it. Musujime Awaki. In an uncharacteristic display of emotional vulnerability, the Move Point girl enwrapped both Kamijou Touma and Misaka Mikoto in her arms. She didn't find herself rejected, not even by the Railgun girl.

This, indeed, was turning out to be a time of uncharacteristic happenings; but this was a mere distraction. All present were more than aware that this, in truth, was only the metaphorical tip of the proverbial iceberg.


	32. Behind the Scenes I

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: This chapter will, aside from continuing the saga of A Certain Broken Testament, plant the seeds for something which I presently envision as a side story, one which will go hand-in-hand with the overall narrative of this fanwork while not detracting from it or 'stealing' focus from it, since it will be self-contained. You, my ever-lovely readers, can expect this side story in the future, at a date which I'm not quite ready to announce nor set in stone.
> 
> Additionally, this chapter will be a "Behind the Scenes" chapter, which will function much as those did in another fanwork I've written, 'A Certain Strange Scenario'. While contributing to the overall narrative and helping to expand the story, this chapter will stray from the action directly concerning the blossoming Kamijou Faction. These sorts of chapters will be few and far between, so don't be too concerned about loss of focus.
> 
> Thank you for your finite time and your attention. Let's begin without further preamble, then!

Academy City.

February 11th, 2004. 4:03 PM.

Two intelligent minds, brilliant minds unrivalled, with IQs well above levels that would've marked mere genius found themselves in a battle of wits. This battle, however, was not waged on the physical level, and it was waged without malice. This was no duel, no battering of egos.

A soft, pleasant breeze swept over the elegant, ornately-decorated balcony of Shokuhou Misaki's dorm in the Tokiwadai Exterior Dormitory. This balcony on high offered a wondrous view of the School Garden – sometimes referred to as the Garden of Learning – with its silvery-set streets tessellated in intricate, odd, but beautiful designs, extravagant, cobbled walkways and tall, arcing, traditional brick and mortar structures, many of which were topped at their pinnacles by rather than simplistic, flat roofs, rising spires which seemed to reach out towards Heaven itself, in an effort to touch it.

Though vast, its streets winding like the veins of a living creature, School Garden was cramped. A living representation of the architects' focus on aesthetic over any real practicality.

There were shops of all sorts, ornately-carved, showering fountains in open city squares, flanked on all sides by gleaming, reinforced wooden benches for sitting. Even the traffic lights that dotted the silvery-set streets were far more elegant than those within other areas of Academy City. School Garden was entirely unique onto itself.

"Your move, Shokuhou-sensei~."

"Hm. The rook maneuver."

Sitting across from one another at a table carved from gleaming, dark silvery stone, with ornate chairs to match – not unlike a set of thrones intended for use by royalty in their stuffy court – Shokuhou Misaki, Academy City's sixth-ranked level five esper, exchanged glances with her mental opponent, Mitsuari Ayu, the Mental Stinger girl, the level three esper whose own ability development had been shafted so that the honey-blonde girl's own could prosper.

Shokuhou wasn't about to admit it, but, truthfully speaking, the Mental Stinger girl had her beat. There wasn't much left she could do. Mitsuari knew how to play the board. She knew how to move her pawns about, and she knew how to turn even a hopeless situation into one in which she emerged on top.

Indeed, the 'Queen Bee' was losing her edge. Her capacity to manipulate was beginning to wane. Her desire to do so waned as well, like the dying hours of sunlight fading into twilight.

The match was spectated quietly by another Tokiwadai Middle School student, who sat between Shokuhou Misaki and Mitsuari Ayu, at the head of the table. This girl watched on, quietly, observing the honey-blonde beauty's contemplations. The Mental Stinger girl did not jeer, nor torment, nor provoke. She merely folded her hands' fingers between one another, rested her chin upon them, and kept her eyes' narrowed lids peeled.

A beautiful young woman in her own right, middle school aged with a slender, naturally curvy form and an ample bosom, her long, platinum-blonde hair was styled into extravagant ringlet curls. Her hair's fringe was sideswept, and her bangs hung elegantly, draping over her upper chest. This girl's eyes, of the same colouration as her hair, moved in their sockets, casting the girl's vision from Mental Stinger, then back to Mental Out.

"Hmph. I concede defeat, Mitsuari-san. It would seem you have bested me yet again."

Rolling her shoulders, Shokuhou Misaki smiled a genuine, warm smile at the Mental Stinger girl. Ayu smiled back, and winked at Tokiwadai's Queen.

"Of course~."

"I-I'm terribly sorry, my Queen," the platinum blonde girl remarked, bowing her head as if in grief. "Perhaps you'll have better luck next time."

Her Queen's white, gloved hand was upon her shoulder, then. The honey-blonde beauty tilted her head to one side, as if curious.

"It is merely a game, Hokaze-chan. A distraction. You need not take all matters so seriously! We are merely having fun. Do remember that. Moreover, how often must I remind you? I am _no one's_ "Queen." I am your friend, first and foremost."

"M-My Queen…"

"Shokuhou-san will suffice, or, if you are comfortable, Misaki."

With a gentle, affectionate squeeze, Tokiwadai's Queen reclaimed her hand, and offered it to Mitsuari Ayu. It was an offer Ayu accepted; the two shook.

"You prove yourself once again to be my intellectual superior. There is much I could learn from you, Mitsuari-san."

Hokaze seemed stunned. She reeled at her Queen's words, as if her Queen had just spoken in some unintelligible language, or perhaps uttered some foul curse word.

As their hands shook, Ayu merely produced a soft, approving coo before ceasing the handshake altogether.

"Perhaps. But you've taught me much more than I could ever teach you… Shokuhou-sensei."

She had to admit, it was wonderful to see the Mental Stinger girl in good spirits. At the very least she could rest assured, knowing that Mitsuari Ayu's psychotherapy and therapeutic medications were helping to stabilize her mental state, and, perhaps in time, bring her to a full recovery. Her wavy, naturally curly chocolate-coloured hair seemed healthier. Her eyes seemed wider, livelier. Even her very skin seemed less pale, with colour visible throughout it.

"But, of course. It'd seem we've become distracted in our wagers! Whatever could you have needed from me, Shokuhou-san?"

It was time to get down 'to business', then. Misaki steeled herself, sitting up straight and at attention, rolling her shoulders once more.

Hokaze, quite suddenly feeling out of whatever loop was beginning to form before her, decided it was finally quite time to take her leave. With a polite curtesy, she intended to disperse herself and leave her betters, as she viewed them to their business, whatever business that might have been.

However, Hokaze found herself beneath her Queen's gaze. Shokuhou Misaki's hypnotic, golden-coloured starry eyes pierced the level four Rampage Dress user's very soul, and looked deep, deep into her.

"Leaving so soon, Hokaze-san?"

"I-If I may, my Queen…"

Either of her Queen's gloved hands quickly made their way to Hokaze's cheeks. Plopping themselves down gently, affectionately, Shokuhou Misaki squeezed her 'handmaiden's' cheeks inwards, pushing the platinum-blonde girl's lips outward, causing them to form a protruding lump.

"Hokaze-chan, Hokaze-chan… You _must_ break this habit of yours. If you wish to leave, then leave. You are no one's servant, and I am no one's Queen. We are all students of Tokiwadai Middle School, equals onto ourselves. Friends, I would like to think."

Mitsuari Ayu found herself just as surprised as ever by this odd behaviour; this queer change of heart experienced by Tokiwadai's Queen. The Mental Stinger girl had an idea as to where it had originated from, and what – or, more to the point, **who** had inspired it.

"Very well, my Que— Shokuhou-sama. I will depart. Please, until we meet again, take care."

"And yourself as well, Hokaze-chan."

Ayu grinned, despite herself, then spoke as the platinum-blonde girl passed elegantly, her curvy, seductive body swaying from side to side – surely an unconscious act – as she departed, closing the sliding glass doors that lead into Shokuhou Misaki's dorm behind her with only the utmost care.

"Might a certain heroic boy have inspired these changes in you, Shokuhou-sensei?"

"Yes. That is precisely the topic I wished to discuss with you further." Wrapping her delicate digits around the handle of her teacup, then lifting it to her lips and sipping of its contents, Shokuhou Misaki rested her face against the palm of her free hand, which was propped against the table's surface upon its elbow. "I am not certain what course it is I should pursue, what course _we_ should pursue, Mitsuari-san."

The Mental Stinger girl sipped from her own teacup, just as her 'sensei' had. Thoughtfully, Ayu repeatedly clicked her small finger's nail against the cup's outer surface.

Another relaxing breeze blew past, settling over the balcony, enwrapping the girls within its invisible embrace, and leaving its loving kisses behind for them.

"Is it not obvious?"

The question, a rhetorical one, might as well have been a bullet ejected from the illuminated muzzle of a firearm, aimed directly at Shokuhou Misaki's throat. Its bluntness left the Mental Out girl taken aback, by her own silent admission.

"Shokuhou-sensei, I do understand that Kumokawa-sensei's words cut deep and exposed a part of you that you have not quite yet come to terms with; but it's no reason to surrender yourself to your own hopelessness, as I once did.

"Regardless of whether I must be a contributing member to some polyamorous gathering, I _intend_ to pursue that boy. If you choose not to, that's your decision, and I'll respect it… But I will _not_ leave you to despair, Shokuhou-sensei."

"I suppose, Mitsuari-san… I'd always envisioned things playing out differently."

"Perhaps in some other time and place, Shokuhou-sensei, they did. This is our hand, so to speak. How we play it dictates our fate. You saved me. You were instrumental in ensuring I was not swallowed further by the darkness of this City. I hardly intend to leave you to be swallowed."

It was then that Mitsuari Ayu rose from her seat, and casually, confidently, strode towards Shokuhou Misaki, who found herself taken aback, ever so slightly.

In but a moment, level three and level five found themselves mere inches from one another.

"Miss honeybee, I do believe a happy balance for the both of us, with _that boy_ in our lives, is possible. Our rekindled friendship is proof of this, no? Why not go further, little honeybee? Let this little ant ravish you~. Coexistence is possible~."

Then Mitsuari Ayu's lips forcibly connected with Shokuhou Misaki's own.

The Mental Stinger girl's hands fell to the Mental Out girl's exposed thighs, the absolute territory between the skirt of her Tokiwadai Middle School winter uniform and her long, elegant white stockings, with their intricate spiderweb patterns.

"You taste wonderful, miss honeybee~. And though your legs _pale_ in comparison to mine, you do have those blobs of fat going for you~."

Misaki's eyelids widened. Her starry pupils dilated. Her breathing rapidly increased. Within their gloves, her hands began to fidget awkwardly. Her fingers twitched in place. An odd, warm, tingling sensation was beginning to rise into the Mental Out girl's throat.

This was wrong. Her first kiss should have been _him_ , her prince. Her beloved prince who, despite the grownups' expectations, had found his way back to her through a tiny miracle, if the words of Tokiwadai's Ace were to be believed – and Tokiwadai's once-Queen had no reason to disbelieve her former rival.

But for something so wrong, this did not feel particularly bad.

"Imagine _that boy_ between us, hm? Loving our bodies, as we love each other~. Would such a thing not be idyllic in its own way, Shokuhou-sensei~?"

Misaki didn't quite know what to think. It was as if her mind had suddenly shut down. She didn't reject Ayu, nor attempt to force the Mental Stinger girl from accosting her. The conflict raging within her higher mind, already beginning to take its toll, caused the Mental Out girl to shudder, as a chill lurched awkwardly upon her spine, running upwards and downwards as if in a panic.

Then, Mitsuari Ayu spoke words which, despite her misgivings, somehow brought clarity to Shokuhou Misaki. They made all the sense in the world. They were not vicious and demeaning, as Kumokawa Seria's words had been, when her prince's upperclassmen had spoken with her through telecommunication.

"Kamijou-san… Has found his way, if his romantic situation is as you say it is. We ought to find ours, as well. To scheme, to plot, and to connive to entrap him in a cramped little birdcage, so that we might have something exotic to call our respective own, like a _pet_ … There would be nothing more cruel. Unorthodox and strange, yes, but such is Kamijou-san."

And hadn't Kumokawa Seria said something similar? If someone like _Kumokawa_ could place her own pride aside for the sake of the boy so many seemed to love – so many who, now, it seemed were to be shown love in return – then…

Where, precisely, did that leave her? Where did that leave Shokuhou Misaki, 'Tokiwadai's Queen'?

She'd prayed to deities from around the globe for this. She'd wept herself to sleep for this. She'd offered her own very soul to any beings, angel or fiend, that might have been listening. Though there had been no buyers, her offer spoke volumes of her dedication.

Here it was, before her. All Shokuhou had to do was reach out, take it, and… Make a compromise. A compromise with herself, a compromise with many others.

"I do figure there… There is only one with whom the details of this… This extraordinary circumstance can be truly worked out and set in stone. That is Kamijou-san, my prince, himself…"

Once more Shokuhou Misaki steeled herself. With a deep breath and an effort to concentrate, she spoke aloud. Partly to Mitsuari Ayu, partly to herself, and though he couldn't hear her where he was, in England, an ocean away, to Kamijou Touma, her prince.

"Let us have a talk, then, my prince. A kind, sweet, and gentle talk…"

* * *

Academy City.

February 11th, 2004. 4:35 PM.

Though cramped, the homey little café in Academy City's seventh school district offered an off-the-books location for discussion, used by many for many varying reasons. Its sky booths were accentuated by the soft-coloured, tiled flooring and arching ceiling, from which light fixtures mounted within beamed down gentle, golden-white light.

Crammed into one such booth were two old men who'd looked to have seen better days, and Academy City's fourth-ranked level five esper, Voidwalker.

"Introductions. This is Nokleben-san. Nokleben-san will be working with us throughout the foreseeable future. He owes Gladio-Oculus a favour, and we'll leave it that," Dave Horton remarked, stirring an empty cup of coffee with a stirring stick to provide his hands something to fidget with.

"My condolences, go ahead and have all of them," Hamasaki Tsubasa grunted in response, shrugging his shoulders indifferently. "This gig sucks. It's the worst. What kind of dirt do they have on you, Nokleben? If you have clean hands, you don't work for Gladio or the Oculus. That simple."

"Level Six Shift project. Security Supervisor, Hamasaki-san."

"Pfft."

Voidwalker leaned back in his seat; his efforts to veil his nervousness with a false, casual front were failing, and he knew it. Truthfully, he would've rather been in Joseph's Coffee & Restaurant with Saten Ruiko, listening to her talk so passionately about her beloved Urban Legends for as long as she sought to talk about them.

Just the thought of her voice was enough to send a tingle rushing upwards, from his stomach and into his throat. It ceased at a pinnacle, leaving him feeling quite lonesome, indeed. A vulnerable position for a level five esper to be in.

"No matter how many times you wash those hands of yours, Nokleben, you won't get _that_ sort of dirt off."

"I know."

Keitz Nokleben's voice was filled – practically dripping with – his own resignation to his destiny. Whatever dark fate found him, he deserved it. He knew it. He'd always known it. A tall, lanky man, his skin was wrinkled; with his swept-back golden-blonde hair and dull, time-worn green eyes, Nokleben looked like some living relic originating from some lost civilization. Unfortunately, no museums were interested in the likes of him.

"So, what's the jig, then, David? Let me take a wild guess. Alright. Here goes. You're looking for quick transport through the Void, to England. No problem… For me."

Gladio-Oculus operative Dave Horton raised an eyebrow, but didn't immediately respond.

"Void is with me every second of every day. My Personal Reality passively generates it, constantly. I got used to it. You _won't_. Not interacting with it for the first time, so directly. Plus, when I go walking through there, taking the strolls that I do, I'm expected. You're not. That's the long and short of it. There are only so many deals I can strike at one time before suspicions arise."

"We're looking at a prolonged siege in Wales," Horton remarked then, evidently undeterred. "Gladio agents embedded in the Dawn-Coloured Sunlight have sent word that Birdway is on the move again. Plot's thickening. They've been meeting with the Amakusa Christians in some little backwater shithole. Looks like Tsuchimikado was right. Amakusa may have just gone rogue."

The Gladio-Oculus agent rubbed his temples with his fingers, muttering under his breath. Hamasaki Tsubasa moved his glance between both Keitz Nokleben and Dave Horton. Still, he said nothing. Instead, he waited for Horton to begin again, and he did, as expected.

"That's why we need to get this thing under control, immediately. Fucking immediately. Get one of those gates of yours open through your Void, wide enough for Academy City tech to fit through. We can have stealth bombers in the air, enough siege vehicles to knock all of Europe out of the game in twenty-four hours if need be. Tanks, Maser Cannons, we've got the HsPS-14 prototype Powered Armour rolling off the assembly lines. They won't know _what_ hit them."

"Or…"

Tsubasa took a sip from his cheap soda, before setting the bottle down on the rickety little table before him. Still clad in the tight-fitting uniform of Sakugawa High School, he certainly wasn't dressed the part of a scheming Academy City 'G-Man'.

"You could let me handle Birdway. Not all that concerned about the Saint, either… It's the vamp that bothers me. Deep Blood is still off-limits?"

"Yes! Deep Blood was, is, and always will be off-limits!" It took all of Dave Horton's mental might – much of which had already been spent simply trying to dredge himself out of bed – to keep from slamming his fist directly into the rickety table. "Deep Blood is far too valuable to _him_. If a…"

Horton looked over both of his shoulders repeatedly, cautiously. As if expecting to have someone listening in on the conversation, the Gladio-Oculus agent quietly coughed into the sleeve of his cheap, pressed suit jacket.

"… Vampire ever decided to waltz into Academy City, Deep Blood needs to be right here to attract it."

"Checks out. Sorry, David. I'm off the ball this afternoon. Lots going on."

"It's that schoolyard crush of yours again, isn't it, Hamasaki? Get it **TOGETHER**!"

Keitz Nokleben became the voice of reason. Swiftly grabbing Horton's wrist mid-air, he forced the arm downward. Nokleben's gaze locked with that of his fellow operative's own.

"The boy is barely old enough to be away from the schoolyard. Have some compassion. You had a wife, before you blew it, Horton. Try to remember what it was like, being young and in love. It's not easy."

"I know plenty about being old and divorced," Horton grumbled, calming himself with a deep, drawn-out inhalation. "You're going soft, Mr. Security Supervisor."

"Soft? No. I have a family to feed. I've never enjoyed this."

Nokleben leaned back, relaxing, in an effort to promote a sense of calm around the table. At the very least, Academy City's fourth-ranked level five esper seemed to be keeping his proverbial hat on straight. If Dave Horton had been laying out bait, Tsubasa hadn't risen to take it.

Finally, Academy City's fourth strongest responded to the original inquiry as best as he could.

"I can get it done, David. I'll need exact dimensions for my calculations, and, I'll need a relatively up-to-date representation of the designation for the other side. Otherwise, the rest is on you. So don't screw it up. You get all of that for me, forward it to me, and I'll take care of it all. Can I trust you to handle the tech without blowing a valve?"

"Only if I can trust _you_ to keep your head on straight until we blow Birdway's off," Horton grumbled, extending a hand outwards.

Hamasaki Tsubasa briefly thought on it, then took the hand into his own, and offered it a firm, confident shake.

"We've settled on it then, David. Before all that, I have _business_ to attend to. It won't keep me for too long."

* * *

February 11th, 2004. 7:00 PM.

By the standards of student dormitories in Academy City's seventh school district, this dormitory wasn't particularly special. To one who didn't have business there, it would have blended in perfectly with just about any other. Flat-roofed, silver-coloured and mostly sterile in design though with soft, beige-coloured stripes running horizontally along its walls, the individual student apartments didn't even have balconies; they were cramped on the inside, with little more than a single room for everyday living, where a bed was expected to be, a cramped kitchen area, and a tiny, equally cramped bathroom. Two ascending staircases lead from the cobbled walkway below to the dormitory's first row of dorms, then to the second.

Altogether, it was a residence in which Saten Ruiko didn't deserve to be entrapped, in Hamasaki Tsubasa's opinion. This dumpy little dormitory was too pitiful for all of her majesty and limitless beauty, which radiated from the inside-out, infinitely.

Academy City's fourth-ranked level five didn't quite know for how long, precisely, he was going to be away from Academy City, and from _her_. The thought pained him. Merely considering it sent painful, wracking bursts of discomfort rushing throughout his chest.

Perhaps, it would give him some time to reflect on his behaviour, and how he, himself viewed the object of his affections. If he were to lay all things out on the proverbial table, come clean, confess and be entirely honest, what would a normal, spunky, outgoing girl like Ruiko think of him, and his view of her? Would she view him as an extreme romantic, or, on the opposite end of the spectrum, a disturbing, obsessive freak?

Such would have to wait. At the very least, he could do _this_. In its own way, _this_ would tell him all he needed to know, and how best he should proceed with his own, future plans.

Ascending the staircases and seeking out the dark, metallic door which lead into the Saten Residence, Voidwalker gently knocked his bare hand's knuckles against the door's surface, then waited, stepping back and resting his form against the nearby railing.

Only a few moments would pass before the door swung open, inwards, and that beautiful, precious young woman practically threw herself outwards, arms spread wide open.

"Hamasaki-san!"

As happy, as friendly, as outgoing as ever, Saten Ruiko's mere vocalizations brought a smile to the tense-feeling high school boy. In a platonic embrace, the level zero girl's arms were around his shoulders. Her embrace was warm, all-encompassing, a relaxing sensation that, for a brief, few moments caused all of Tsubasa's troubles to slip away and slink, back, into the darkened depths from which they'd emerged, like so many disgusting little imps.

"Hey, Saten."

He returned the embrace, with some reluctance. His hands were filthy, speaking proverbially. They were plastered in filth, from the tips of his fingers to his wrists. One such as him, truthfully, didn't even deserve to so much as touch a girl as pure as this. That was Hamasaki Tsubasa's outlook on the situation.

"When you texted, I was _so_ hyped! We haven't hung out since…"

She seemed to trail off, then. Saten Ruiko remembered their last encounter, in that bank. When she'd witnessed, and not for the first time, how quickly a situation could spiral out of control. How a carefree, lazy day could become a frantic struggle to survive.

Though their embrace parted, Voidwalker rested a hand gently upon his friend's shoulder.

"Don't think about it, Saten. Happy thoughts are always nicer than heavy thoughts. Remember?"

"Y-Yeah. That's right! Happy thoughts, not heavy thoughts."

"See? You've got the hang of this. Besides, perk up, Saten. I got something for you."

"?!"

With her wide, curious blue eyes, so full of love and life, and long, elegant dark hair, Saten Ruiko, even her exceedingly casual dress, looked the part of an extravagant royal to Hamasaki Tsubasa. A purple-striped hooded sweater adorned her upper body, and beneath it, a simple short-sleeved shirt. Loose-fitting gym shorts adorned her lower body, as did ankle socks.

"F-For me?! You really shouldn't have…"

From within the pocket of his uniform's pants, Hamasaki Tsubasa produced a small, square-shaped box, with an ornate ribbon tied over its surfaces several times over.

Ruiko peered down at it. For a moment's time, she seemed to become fixated on it. Her eyelids widened at the mere sight of it, as if it was something worth becoming deeply flustered over. Almost instantaneously, the girl's cheeks flared up, turning to a bright, crimson shade of red. Stuttering wordlessly, the level zero girl turned her gaze from the little box, and to the boy who held it out in front of her.

"C-Can I…?"

"Be my guest."

Taking it into her hands and holding it close, as if she feared she'd drop it, Ruiko pried the ribbon away with shaking fingers. Her nails shuddered as her fingers' tips did. Once the ribbon was torn away, the Urban Legend girl lifted the box's lid with considerable caution to her actions.

Held within, surrounded by soft, fluffy white material akin to cotton, was an object which, quite literally, took Ruiko's breath away. It was stunningly beautiful; unlike anything the girl had ever laid her eyes' gaze upon in her entire, relatively short life. It glimmered without the presence of light. Its golden-coloured surfaces decorated with ornate patterns, studded with tiny, precious gems which Ruiko couldn't even begin to try and identify, it was a ring. In its center was a large, octagonal gem. This gem was one Ruiko recognized as soon as she glimpsed it.

It was a diamond.

" _N-No way… What is this? V-Valentine's isn't until the fourteenth! It's so beautiful! I'm happy… I'm really, really happy… But… I… Which finger should I wear it on…? What does it mean…? Hamasaki-san…?"_

Quietly, Academy City's fourth-ranked level five chuckled.

"I'm not asking you to elope, or anything crazy. It's… Huh. I thought this would be easier. It seemed easier in my head, Saten. It symbolizes my intentions, I suppose. A promise I probably should have extended a long time ago _…_ "

Their eyes' respective gazes locked, then.

"I'm willing to save myself and wait for you, as long as it takes _…_ Ruiko _…_ Would you do the same? Once you come of age, and you feel you can, would you return my feelings for you? Will you save yourself for me?"

"Yes."

There was no hesitation in her words.

They were the words of a confident individual who realized only in that moment that something deeply precious had been offered onto them.

"It's so beautiful! I don't want to stop looking at it! I-I've always l-liked you… But I-I've… I've always felt like it was hard to get close! You're a level five, and I'm just a level zero, and…"

Every molecule in Voidwalker's body demanded that he lean in and kiss her; but that could wait. That could wait four years, five years, a thousand years. There was no length of time that Hamasaki Tsubasa _wouldn't_ wait for her.

"None of that matters, Ruiko."

"… Huh?"

"If you have feelings for me, and I have feelings for you, isn't that all that matters? Our esper levels are irrelevant. I'd give this power up in a second for you. I'd give anything and everything for you."

Then, slowly, Saten Ruiko slipped the golden, bejeweled ring onto her right hand's index finger. For some reason or another, her mind simply went straight to that finger, on that hand. It was a perfect, snug fit. Accentuated by her soft, light-coloured skin, she looked down at it, wiggled her fingers about, then brought the ring up to her lips.

"It's breathtaking… Hamasaki-san… H-How much did you _pay_ for this?!"

"Doesn't matter. I'd give you an entire diamond mine if I could."

Then, as if the mood suddenly shifted around her, Ruiko found that boy who, in her heart, she felt such powerful feelings for sighing, as if some morose air had come to enshroud him, beyond her sight.

"I'm glad clearing the air didn't go nearly as bad as I figured it would've… I'll be leaving for a while. I wanted to take off on a happy note."

The Urban Legend girl could've done just about anything, in _that_ moment, hearing _those_ words spoken by _him_. Ruiko focused on the response which made the most logical sense, and decided upon it, and it alone. There would be no sense in becoming visibly upset. If anything, she'd simply lose sight of her goal and mess **everything** up. She wasn't that kind of girl. There was a reasonable path, always. If there was **anything** she'd learned from diving headfirst into the Level Upper debacle, it had been the capacity for reasoning.

No. Saten Ruiko would behave as a woman would, not a girl. She wouldn't debase herself in such ways.

"Hamasaki-san, I'm really happy… But you can't just give me something like this, tell me everything you have, and then just run off on me. This is a big part of what's been keeping _me_ from being honest, too. You're always running off, being all mysterious-like."

It was Tsubasa's turn to calculate, and weigh his options. Everything he could ever want was here, in front of him. She hadn't turned him away. Even with all of his exceedingly corny and, by his own admission, exceedingly lame admissions, she hadn't turned him away. Ruiko hadn't mocked him, nor rejected him, nor walked away from him. Until he'd mentioned what he'd mentioned, she'd seemed nothing but completely contented.

"I don't know what you've got yourself into, but I can help! I've helped Misaka-san with things like this, if that's what you're stuck in! I… I love you. And I want to be here for you."

The fourth-ranked level five esper, Voidwalker, had a choice to make. It was presented before him, as clear as the blue sky of a cloudless summer's day. Academy City's never-ending 'darkness' could claim another victim…

Or…

Hamasaki Tsubasa could risk it all and betray his handlers. Betray the City that had made him into what he was, for a very specific purpose. Risk incurring the wrath of this experimental supercity's General Superintendent, he who observed and knew all.

UNDER_LINE surrounded him. Hamasaki Tsubasa knew and understood this as a fact, as a facet of reality in this City. There were few places one could go in Academy City which _weren't_ being observed constantly by the microscopic devices that floated on the air.

He certainly hadn't expected things to go quite like this. In fact, Voidwalker had envisioned almost all of it in his mind's eye, presuming on it, assuming that his thoughts would play out perfectly in reality. He'd constructed something of a narrative within his thoughts.

Reality betrayed the narrative. Reality did _not_ follow the narrative. Saten Ruiko was not a character in a book. She was a living, thinking person who wouldn't simply obey the whims of a narrator who controlled all things from on high, toying with lives like so many puppets dangling on strings.

"I… I guess I didn't figure I'd be saying this to you so soon… I love you too, Ruiko… You're right. Sorry. I don't know what I was thinking. If you'd offer your help to me, I'll accept it. Might I come in? I hate to impose—"

"Bologna!" Ruiko exclaimed, beckoning her friend inwards. "You're always welcome here, silly. Come on in."

He had some inkling of it, but couldn't yet envision where, exactly it would lead him. Stepping through the doorway, from outside Saten Ruiko's residence and into it, Hamasaki Tsubasa, in fact, took his first steps out from the darkness and into the light.

Aleister Crowley, Academy City's General Superintendent, was none too pleased. Too many of his toys were beginning to act up.

* * *

Catherdine, Wales.  
February 10th, 2004: 5:15 PM.

Catherdine was a miserable little backwater dump; but it was clearly cared for by its residents. The stone-paved walkways, leading from structure to structure were kept clear of natural overgrowth.

Nearby the Llangorse Lake, the idyllic fieldscapes surrounding the little fence-enclosed hamlet were ruffled by the breeze, like locks of a lover's hair parted by gentle, loving strokes. Tall, healthy trees dotted the hamlet, and the flowing, hilly fieldscapes beyond.

The tallest structure, a place of worship – an aged, weather-worn chapel – had become a home for chatty birds as much as the hamlet's human parishioners. There was history here, perhaps hundreds of years worth of history.

A queer little place for a queer little meeting.

Saint Kanzaki Kaori eyed the carvings upon the tavern's walls suspiciously. Each stunk to High Heaven of death, like a rotting corpse trapped inside of an airtight bag. Were she not as mighty, Kaori might have vomited; Itsuwa and Tatemiya Saiji were less capable of masking their disgust, and so, the two sat upon a bench as far away from the vampiric demon hunter as they could manage, and talked between each other in hushed whispers.

One of three taverns accepting patrons in the little hamlet of Catherdine, the Intoxicated Ibis, lit only by the sun's natural, golden-white rays beaming in through the ornate windows and candlelight, had evidently been taken over by the Dawn-Coloured Sunlight. Child-leader Leivinia Birdway's subordinates loitered about the place, some speaking among themselves.

Though small in size, the Intoxicated Ibis did not feel particularly cramped. With its entranceway leading into a cozy dining hall lit by a stone-wrought hearth, complete with four oaken tables, the vacated kitchen was viewable through an empty doorway.

Perhaps an actual door had been held within at one point? Saint Kanzaki Kaori couldn't have known for certain. Moreover, there were matters of considerably greater importance for her to contemplate.

Seated at one of several tables situated throughout the dining hall, the Saint of the Far East stared down the Dawn-Coloured Sunlight's child-leader. Seated nearby her, ever-loyal, was apparent vampire and demon hunter, Iosephus Thepes. He remained utterly silent, barely even breathing.

Between them, placed upon the table and rattling with activity was the device which had stirred up so much havoc within the 'Magic Side'; Leivinia Birdway's 'Soulgrinder'. Hourglass-shaped and filled with swirling, surging emerald green energies, the odd device repeatedly shook with increasingly intensity.

It seemed as if something was attempting to escape from within, but found itself incapable of doing so. Kaori was closer to the truth than she could've known, but none were about to inform her of this.

"I have to admit, I'm a bit flabbergasted," Birdway admitted, swaying either of her little legs in place. "You _want in_ , old lady? You _want_ to strike out at Vatican City? Whatever cover you're currently operating under would be blown as soon as your bitchy Archbishop catches word."

"The Sons of Taured, truthfully, needs a podium from which to speak. Where better than Vatican City? Those who have not already been made privy to the truth can hear our message, and find hope within themselves, within magic."

It was a point Leivinia had to admit to herself had merit. Though she wasn't about to admit it publicly, the Dawn-Coloured Sunlight's leader was quite taken aback. Kanzaki Kaori, the Saint of the Far East, that wrinkly old lady was **really** doing it.

She was **really** rebelling against the Anglican Church, against Necessarius… And, against the 'Science Side'.

Did this old lady even have any idea of what she was getting herself into? Or, was Kanzaki Kaori merely acting blindly on ideals alone?

Leivinia Birdway couldn't have known, not for certain.

"The Pope is protected by some of the most powerful magicians on Earth. Which is where _my_ Soulgrinder, and _my_ demon hunter come in handy. Isn't that right, Thepes? You'll suffer through any abuse for me, won't you?"

"Of course, Dawn-Coloured Lady."

Not even a moment's hesitation. Kaori was impressed, in her own way. She found herself staring into it; into the swirling, emerald green masses entrapped within the 'Soulgrinder'. They repeatedly slammed themselves against the hourglass-shaped body of the device. Lacking any truly humanizing features, these swirling masses were more akin to a particularly foul-seeming lightshow.

"A Soulgrinder… Intel suggests your cabal recovered this accursed thing from an Indonesian black market. Am I correct?"

Birdway nearly knocked her chair backward; she tossed her head back and laughed. She laughed as a haughty rich girl might've laughed after being asked to prom by some lowly street thug.

"We have a traitor among our ranks, Thepes! How amusing!"

Settling back into place, though still gently rocking herself backward and forward as she giggled quietly to herself, Leivinia softly cleared her throat, repeatedly, more in an effort to regain her professional, outward appearance than to clear any real blockage within.

"I can deal with that later. To answer your question, old lady, yes. That's exactly where I recovered the device from! The merchant didn't have the faintest clue of what he had among his wares! It was a brilliant find, really. A masterstroke only **I** could have engineered."

Kaori sighed, exasperated already. As if the trip from the England-Wales border to this backwater hamlet, accompanied by the Dawn-Coloured Sunlight from start to end hadn't been exhausting enough.

Simply being in Leivinia Birdway's presence for too long was exhausting, in and of itself.

"People all over the world are learning about magic because of you Sons of Taured meddlers," Leivinia remarked, then, with a hint of irritation in her voice. She reached out, wrapped her digits around her cup, and raised it to her lips; there was no liquid within, much to the child-leader's disdain.

"Thepes!" Leivinia commanded harshly, "go fetch me some more ice water. Make it quick."

"Of course, my Lady."

The demon hunter took the cup into his hands with the utmost care, then departed from the table, leaving Leivinia Birdway and Kanzaki Kaori to their business.

"Still, I can make this work in my favour, too. We'll probably have more help in Vatican City than you're betting on, old lady. Don't tell me you haven't seen the global protests."

"Academy City is clearly taking great strides to suppress the spread of information," Kaori retorted. "But it's hardly working as they intend. The world is waking up, regardless of whether Academy City approves or not… Though joyous, I must admit, I expect a cataclysm.

"The people will feel betrayed. How many have lost loved ones to diseases which could have been cured with the use of magic? Until magic is formally recognized as an aspect of our reality by world powers, and perhaps even after the fact, I'll continue to expect the worst."

Leaning forward, across the table, Leivinia leered at the Saint.

"Once we've taken Vatican City, what then? Do we just put ourselves up on a couple of soapboxes with some megaphones and start yelling? No. This is why you've always failed, Saint of the Far East, and why **I** have always succeeded. You need to think. There's one mouth the Western world will trust, and that mouth can be made to speak whatever words we want it to."

"You mean to extort the Pope."

"Precisely! Dementia hasn't quite got the best of you just yet, I see!"

Leivinia leaned back in her seat, and accepted the refilled glass of ice water brought by her subordinate and second-in-command. Slapping her hand's palm against his back, the child-leader sipped from the cup, then smacked her lips impolitely before she spoke once more.

"I imbue my tagalongs' weapons with raw, Daemoniac energy. That's what's in the Soulgrinder, see, old lady? It's all Daemoniac souls, ripped from their bodies, pulled inside and reduced to raw materials. It's very much like Telesma. I march in with a superpowered army at my back, and a vampire. You… What was it you call yourselves again?"

"The Amakusa Remix-Style of Church, who have joined with the Sons of Taured."

"Yep, _still_ don't care… You lot work well in unison. My army delivers a surgical strike, cripples Vatican City. You capture the Pope. I have Thepes break him down, he starts working for us. Then, you do whatever it is you want to do for your Taured nonsense, and we'll take the Vatican, boot the Roman Catholics out, and change its name to 'Birdway City'. Or, maybe, 'Leivinia City'. Hey, why not 'Leivinia Birdway City'? I'll have to think on it."

How far had Birdway planned this out? She was laying bare before the Saint of the Far East an entire battle plan. It was rudimentary and without deep strategy, certainly, but someone like Birdway didn't _need_ strategy. She had a vampire on a leash. Kaori recognized the rash brutishness for what it was. Not stupidity nor foolishness, but a simple lack of competent opposition.

Even if the Vatican was aided by an assembled God's Right Seat, what use would they be? William Orwell was a Saint no longer. Fiamma's mightiest asset had been ripped from him. Vento stood no chance against a vampire.

Kanzaki Kaori was willing to take no risks.

"And if Academy City involves itself, Birdway?"

"Heheh…"

A devious, wicked little smirk practically rushed across Leivinia Birdway's face.

"I'll deal with Academy City in due time, don't you worry yourself into a panic about it, old lady. You're very much discounting how much support your little secret club is going to have once magic really starts getting out there." Raising either of her arms towards Heaven, Leivinia's elegant white gown, with its pitch-dark markings akin to the keys of a grand piano flowed extravagantly. "The Dawn-Coloured Sunlight's ranks will swell. The Sons of Taured's ranks will soar. We lead two armies against Academy City, one from Western Tokyo, the other from the Saitama District. Crush the 'City of Science' between us, and share of the spoils."

"I presume you didn't rest on your laurels and add us into your equation prematurely, Birdway."

"Of course not, old lady. These tactics are on-the-fly."

"And the British Royal Family?"

Kaori's remark brought to mind within Leivinia an aspect she hadn't previously considered. The British Royal Family certainly wouldn't sit idly by and permit a hostile takeover. England's defense pact with Academy City would likely see English troops landing with boots on the ground to aid the walled-off city-state in the Far East, when push inevitably came to shove.

"I'll permit them to live if they bend knee to the Dawn-Coloured Sunlight, then kiss the ground I walk on. Otherwise, there's going to be some _regicide_!"

And she meant it. Kanzaki Kaori could easily tell just how much Leivinia Birdway meant it. This twelve-year-old child-leader was willing to wage war against the entire planet to see her schemes come to fruition. Why? What drove her? She'd almost become manic, so pleasurable and delectable was this idea of dominion and conquering to Leivinia.

To the Saint of the Far East, Leivinia Birdway was an enigma, something beyond understanding. Kaori attempted to peer into the child's wide, sky-blue eyes; she turned away, evidently sensing the Saint's intentions and denying her passage, safe or otherwise.

"What still surprises me," Birdway muttered, "is how casual you are about my use of the Daemoniac. As a Saint, and as a practicing Christian – I'd assume – you should be repulsed. Are you not? Or has your faith wavered, old lady?"

Kanzaki Kaori's response left the Dawn-Coloured Sunlight's child-leader silently impressed.

"The hardest choices require the strongest wills. The Church of England is lead by a vile, scheming tyrant who is without compassion. _She_ is my enemy. Not the Pope, not Vatican City, nor even Academy City. My enemy is my now-former Archbishop, and _all_ who remain at her side… Despite knowing exactly who she is… This is no longer about **anything** other than vengeance. Is this a satisfactory explanation?"

Leivinia puffed herself up, then leaned back with the sort of casual pose one wouldn't have assumed such a proper young lady to be capable of taking. The silent, observative demon-hunter, Iosephus Thepes, turned from the sight, as if physically repelled.

"This is for her sake. It is to the greatest extent, the most humane way."

"How…?"

"You thought I didn't know what this was all about, old lady? Heheh. I always knew. Some of my tagalongs are ex-Anglicans who turned from the faith after coming to the same realization you did."

She turned, then, to the vampiric demon hunter, whose shoulder she tapped repeatedly, gathering his attention quite swiftly.

"Thepes, gather these louts of mine and report for duty outside the tavern. As I finalize matters with this elderly lady, go about the process of imbuing their weapons with Daemoniac power. I want every single weapon filled to the rim with power, until they can't take another _drop_."

"Will that be all, Dawn-Coloured Lady?"

"Yep. Now, get lost."

"Very well."

Leivinia waved the demon hunter away dismissively, then returned her attention back to Kanzaki Kaori. As Iosephus Thepes departed from the tavern entirely, leading Birdway's Dawn-Coloured Sunlight subordinates along with him, Kaori felt a certain pressure decrease within the tavern. Being so close to a vampire, and to one whose blood pulsated with the Daemoniac for so long had begun to take its toll on the Saint, one whose very body was so closely linked to the Son of God.

Cautiously, the Dawn-Coloured Sunlight's leader extended a hand.

"For the time being, my cabal, the Dawn-Coloured Sunlight and your secret little club, the Sons of Taured, shall find common ground and a common enemy. To that end, we'll throw out lot together."

Kaori took the hand, considerably smaller than her own, into her gentle grip, and offered the child-leader a hesitant, affirmative handshake.

In a world where symbolism was above all else in terms of importance – the most powerful of magicians relied upon it, as did the weakest aspirant casters – the Saint was expected to complete this symbolic 'linking'.

"For the time being, my holy order, the Sons of Taured, and your cabal, the Dawn-Coloured Sunlight, shall find common ground and common enemy. To that end, we'll operate as one… Until the divide between us grows too great."

The child-leader giggled, shook on the tenuous agreement, then reclaimed her outstretched arm before she rose from her seat and stretched, groaning in pleasure as she stood upon her toes.

"Before I forget…"

Leivinia's gaze locked with Kaori's own, and offered the Saint a clear view of the soul that laid within. The Saint couldn't quite gauge it, couldn't exactly measure it, nor contemplate it. As ever, Leivinia Birdway remained an unidentifiable enigma.

"How likely do you reckon it is that the spikey-haired fool is going to involve himself in all of this?"

"This is something I've thought of for some time," Kaori responded following some careful consideration. "He has always, selflessly lent his aid in the past… His penchant for wishing to behold the entire world smiling, however, may become more a hindrance than a help. As romantic a thought as it might be, it's unrealistic, and can't be an expected outcome, not here. Not now."

"I'm sure you'll think of something, old lady. You might be ancient and wrinkled, but I'm sure, somewhere down in there, you've got, maybe, a single womanly wile. Why not woo _him_ to _your_ side, then have _him_ aid _us_?"

"W-What a-are you… I-Implying?!"

She'd been entirely, overtly serious the entire time. The proverbial ice queen, now defrosted and melting in place, surrounded by a puddle of her own steadily-dripping awkwardness. Mere sexual undertones had been enough to set the Saint off; quietly, Leivinia Birdway chuckled at this distraction.

_"He'll aid us, so long as you remain useful to me, old lady, or I'll just find a way to turn him against you. Like your Anglican Church, I've always found Kamijou Touma so **easy** to manipulate that senselessly wasting such a valuable asset would, rightly, be **criminal**._

* * *

England.  
February 10th, 2004. 5:35 PM.

Index Librorum Prohibitorum's eyes didn't seem to know where to settle. Incapable of finding rest, they darted about wildly in their sockets. The little nun with the long, silver hair, she who held within her mind the collective contents of over one hundred thousand accursed texts – Grimoires – felt her own heart beating rapidly in her chest, far quicker than it should've been, by her own approximations.

The limousine commandeered by Oriana Thomson had pulled into a full retreat, its tires having squealed aloud as they tore grassy fields apart beneath them. Tufts of grass clung to earth which was ejected from beneath the spinning tires.

The fields were wide, vast, and open. Only the occasional tree dotted the landscape. There were no mountainous outcroppings, nor were there heavily-forested canopies in which reprieve could be found.

The limousine itself would have to do. Open and exposed, as a monstrous battle raged on in the distance.

"Index-chan?"

Peering down at her, the exceedingly kindly, almost motherly upperclassman of her 'keeper' and guardian gently took the little nun's hands into her own, and smiled a wide, genuine smile at her. The poor thing was terrified, and Kumokawa Seria knew it. She was lost without her Touma. Being without him must have surely been wreaking havoc upon the poor girl's psyche. The nature of this situation itself obviously didn't help matters. Seria recognized the physical symptoms of anxiousness made manifest.

When Seria peered into this little silver-haired nun's wide, green eyes, she saw a rare innocence, unmarred by the horrors she'd endured throughout her short life. It was the sort of innocence that Seria felt herself becoming just a bit envious of.

And, then, she caught herself; envy was something _Shokuhou_ would hold close to her heart and wield as a weapon to augment her uncanny ability to manipulate. In her own way, Seria recognized herself as having been quite the same, before she'd had her epiphany.

Before Kamijou Touma had vanished for over an entire month and left her reeling, desperate, screaming into the void for even a glimpse of him.

Indeed, Kumokawa Seria had undergone metamorphosis and emerged better.

"You suddenly cut yourself off quite abruptly. If you would Index-chan, how would one go about wielding 'magic' for themselves? I believe I can fathom a majority of the history, now that yourself and, _ahem_ , 'Olivia-chan' have extrapolated it. It's all so very interesting. To think that a hidden world exists beneath the mere noses of most…"

That seemed to catch the little nun's attention. Her eyes, reflecting the conflict waged within her soul, lit up as suddenly as her head tilted upwards.

"T-That's easy! But, oh… If you're an esper, you can't use magic. The arcane feedback will hurt you. A lot! When a magician refines mana, there's _always_ arcane feedback. It's normally harmless. Something about an esper's AIM Field must make it dangerous."

"Not quite what it reads here, nun," the former Magic God, Othinus pointed out. From her pocket, she produced a crumpled-up Sons of Taured propaganda pamphlet. "These global demonstrations regarding magic and magicians seem to prove that the information contained within is truthful."

"This banishing ritual needs materials we don't have," Index retorted. "It's not safe! Seria is too nice to use as a guinea pig!"

Despite herself, Kumokawa Seria blushed heavily.

"Aren't **you** simply the most adorable little thing, Index-chan? I could cuddle you up forever~!"

Practically swallowed within the mature woman's arms, Index found herself tightly, warmly embraced and held lovingly. Kumokawa Seria was all too aware of how drastically she'd permitted herself to grow and change; the Kumokawa Seria who had spent so much time paying so much attention to 'the big picture' would never have accepted 'competition'.

This had been for the best, Oriana Thomson figured. The conflict raging on in the distance seemed to have calmed. There were no further exchanges of power. White no longer clashed with golden, lightning no longer crashed downwards as if hurled from Heaven on high, and no colossal chunks of earth were tossed around like so many dinky children's toys.

Oriana, with both hands gripping the limousine's steering wheel, made the call. She would drive forward. Flooring the gas pedal, the limousine jerked to life, then rushed forward, ripping swathes of grass from the fields beneath its squealing tires.

"I think Kamijou-kun and company have everything under control."

"Do we know for sure?" Came Index's reply. Oriana could only shake her head, no. Ascending and descending upon naturally hilly terrain, the passengers' stomachs curled upon themselves with each rise and fall.

"That's a negative; but there's no need to worry, none at all. If worst does come to worst, onee-san will jump in and join the brawl. It's not my preferred discourse, but a damsel is something I'm not."

As the commandeered vehicle's driver, Oriana caught a glimpse of _it_ first. The gore was enough to make her stomach turn. An experienced freelancer and no stranger to violence, Oriana Thomson was no gorehound. Being familiar with violence didn't particularly mean that Oriana revelled in it. If she herself needed proof, she'd found it.

Oriana Thomson hadn't known what to expect; but she hadn't expected _this_. Kamijou Touma, that heroic boy who'd only ever wanted to see the world smile, didn't seem particularly disturbed by the sight. An anomaly, to be certain.

Braking and setting the limousine to neutral with a yank on its protruding shift stick, the once-freelancer turned in her seat, backwards, facing her passengers.

"I'd recommend against looking directly ahead. Trust onee-san, please, for your own good. It's quite gruesome."

Index hid her face, resting it within Kumokawa Seria's shirt. 'Beauty-Senpai' gently stroked the little nun's head comfortingly, but did not avert her own gaze. Quickly, without thinking, Kumokawa Seria nodded affirmatively at the sight, as if to silently congratulate the effectiveness of the work she knew, nearly for certain, to be her kohai's own.

Former Magic God Othinus turned her sight to the limousine's floor beneath her feet, disgusted. It had been too late for her; she'd seen it. The mangled corpse that had once been Accelerator, Academy City's strongest esper, surrounded in a pool of his own lifeblood. It stained the grass around him. He was dead, gone, snuffed out.

Then, mentally, Othinus chastised herself.

_"You don't find yourself in a position to judge anyone for engaging in acts of wanton violence. Silence your dimwitted thoughts before you further prove yourself a hypocrite."_

Watching on, Oriana quietly observed as that twintails girl, Musujime Awaki, caused the stiff, mangled corpse to entirely vanish from sight with the mere tap of a finger. Such must have been the work of an 'esper ability', that which Academy City was so famous for producing within otherwise normal human beings. The once-freelancer found herself relieved, no longer having to look upon that carcass; yet, it was a sight that lingered in Oriana's vision, a half-translucent phantom which took full form whenever she so much as blinked.

Pressing her finger's tip upon a single, tempered glass button, one of several located alongside the interior handle of the limousine's driver's side door, the commandeered vehicle's passenger doors swung open, just as the limousine itself came to a stop. Oriana's digits gripped the steering wheel just a bit more tightly.

"I have a feeling we're only _just_ seeing how interesting things are going to get."


	33. Arrival

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: This is going to be the last fanwork chapter I post for a while. Projects of considerable importance require my full attention as of this writing. While I enjoy writing these fanworks for all of you, my lovely readers, responsibilities take priority over these. I hope you understand. Don't think of this so much as a 'goodbye', because it's more of a 'see you later'.

England.   
February 10th, 2004. 5:35 PM.

What was he supposed to say, or even do? Kamijou Touma, the one who had slain Accelerator now found himself being approached by one of Accelerator's charges. Not entirely certain of the nature of the relationship this Sister – Misaka Worst, Touma recognized her as – had held with Academy City's 'top dog', he remained cautious.

Raising either of his hands into the air, as if he was being detained by officers of the law, Kamijou tilted his head to one side, ensuring that his eyes' line of vision remained focused on Worst's own amber-coloured irises.

"I won't hurt you, Worst. No matter _what_ you do to me. I can understand all of the totally, completely fucked up feelings you must be having right now. Towards me. I'm not going to punish you for lashing out. So, whatever you need to say, just go ahead and say it."

Misaka Mikoto, the worthless failure of a big sister who these poor girls had been straddled with, failed by from day one, watched helplessly as Worst approached. Having risen from her seated position within the flowing grass, glad in her snow-white aodai, its pink-coloured leggings accentuated by the aodai's pink, ornate, intricate floral patterns, Worst didn't immediately respond to Touma's remark.

Then, they were mere inches from one another.

Finally, there, inches from each other, Worst spoke her piece.

"Saviour. You know, tou-san killed more than ten thousand Misakas. Misaka already told tou-san this, but it didn't quite hit the mark. Tou-san isn't a normal person, and doesn't deserve a normal death. Tou-san wouldn't have made up for what he'd done unless he'd have his human rights _trampled on_ ten thousand times. And that's without Misaka's own compound interest… Thirty thousand times wouldn't have been enough. Nothing would have."

Worst peered to the bloodstained grass. Her amber-coloured eyes seemed to flicker with something, some sort of sensation, as several arcs of electricity surged outward from her body. Touma was very much reminded of Mikoto's own unconscious manifestations of crackling electricity, during moments of emotional heightening.

Indeed, as Touma's 'readings' suggested, Misaka Worst was experiencing a state of heightened emotions. By observing her brainwaves through the use of his machine phase-matter, witnessing the results in his forcibly-ascended mind's eye as clearly as he could see the clone of Misaka Mikoto mere inches from him, Touma could _visualize_ her brain's erratic state of being.

"Misaka was created to kill tou-san. Misaka never asked for this, but, here Misaka is. Misaka was cut open after birth, filled with sheets and selectors. To cut Misaka off from the Control Tower. If it wasn't for tou-san, Misaka never would have had to be here. Misaka never would have had to feel the pain she did."

Despite having already slaughtered him like a pig, Kamijou Touma felt – and permitted to pass – a renewed, surging hatred for Accelerator.

"It's a shame I could only kill him once, Worst."

"Misaka doesn't know what she was thinking. Misaka was alone. Misaka was suffering. Misaka was terrified. Tou-san and Misaka came to a half-hearted compromise. Misaka found tou-san useful for relieving certain biological needs… Misaka might have even thought tou-san loved her, sometimes."

She gritted her teeth. The clone bit down on nothing so hard that Touma, her own big sister, Mikoto, and even Move Point, who was some few feet away, heard the gnashing.

"… Misaka knows, maybe always knew, that it wasn't meant to be. Misaka was playing house, because she was too cowardly to do what needed to be done. But the Saviour did it, and Misaka didn't have to. Misaka finds herself in the Saviour's debt again…"

She closed what distance remained between them, then, grabbed Kamijou Touma by the scruff of his shirt's collar. The nanites, the swirling masses of machine phase-matter pried themselves loose, slipping from between Worst's fingers like sand before resettling into their main mass. Worst blinked, several times in confusion, before continuing as if nothing happened.

"… But Misaka is going to have a hard time forgiving the Saviour for not ending tou-san the first time. Misaka shouldn't feel this way towards you, because you had no way of knowing… But you're also responsible for Misaka being born. For her suffering."

"I've been having a hard time forgiving myself."

Then, Misaka Worst placed either of her hands on the 'Saviour's' shoulders. Her grip tightened. She said nothing. Worst simply peered into Kamijou's eyes, looking for a single sign of humanity, that human glint in his eyes that even Accelerator, a mass murderer who had sent over ten thousand living, breathing, thinking people to their deaths had visible in his own crimson eyes.

Worst found nothing of the sort within Touma's eyes.

"Did he ever hurt you, Worst?"

The question was blunt, straight to the point. She was surprised by the concern expressed towards her. Kamijou Touma hadn't hurled names at her, nor cussed her out, nor demanded she go off and die somewhere. He'd simply asked about her well-being.

A welcome change from what Misaka Worst had become adjusted to as the Accelerator's 'girlfriend.'

"Tou-san broke Misaka's arm in Russia, yes. Sometimes tou-san would hit Misaka when he fucked her, but Misaka got used to it."

Almost immediately, Misaka Worst found herself taken into a tight embrace. Every part of him was cold to the touch. His clothes and skin were of the same temperature, as if the clothing was little more than a false façade, a smaller part of a greater mass. Funnily enough, Worst wasn't far from the truth of the situation, though she couldn't have known it.

"He'll never hurt anyone again. _Ever_ ," Touma spoke softly. "No one will ever hurt you, or any of your Sisters ever again, beautiful girl. I'll be making sure of that, myself. He seemed to think people in Academy City would start gunning for you once he… **Died**. I'll make sure that doesn't happen."

_Beautiful? Beautiful._

Misaka Worst seemed to short circuit as a result of the compliment. Her brain, the depository for the Misaka Network's collective negative emotions, didn't respond particularly well to the kindness. She forcibly broke the embrace, then stumbled backwards. Caught in the arms of her big sister, Mikoto helped Worst right herself.

"Ha… Hahaha. How does the Saviour feel, now that the Saviour has blood on his hands? Is it everything he imagined? The Saviour isn't a hero anymore. The Saviour is still the Saviour, but not a hero. Misaka wants to know what it feels like to lose that part of you."

Kamijou shrugged in abject indifference. His eyes darted about within their sockets. His forcibly-ascended higher mind constantly scanned and catalogued information from the world around him, analyzed and comprehended it effortlessly in ways that a living, biological human brain never could have.

And, still, Touma remarked, "I don't know what I feel. I'm glad he's gone. I'm glad I righted my wrongs, finished my unfinished business and made him pay. But it doesn't feel like something to gloat about. I don't see myself throwing a party or trying to get myself recognized as 'the number one' now. It's just something I should've done, but didn't. You're right, really, Worst. It's not enough. No amount of torture or suffering would ever have been enough for him."

He looked to the sky, then, as if it and its rolling, fluffy white clouds held answers he, himself couldn't find.

"It wasn't the 'heroic' thing to do, but, guess what? Heroes don't exist, Worst, sweetheart. Only idiots with bloated egos who like to shove themselves into situations that don't involve them exist. They 'rescue maidens' and then treat those girls like they're made of glass, objectifying them, reducing them to trophies that need to be protected, because they're too weak to protect themselves, regardless of how strong they actually are. "Look at Sir Knight, riding in to gallantly rescue the helpless maiden, then play it off cool!" People like that are scum. People like that… They wind up **dead**."

With finality, Touma cast his gaze back, downwards, towards Misaka Worst and Misaka Mikoto.

"I don't know what else to tell you. I usually try to use shitty, sarcastic quips to deal with my situational problems… But I guess I'm just not in the mood for that right now. I'm sure you're not, either."

"As long as the Saviour understands that Misaka can't forgive him for her being born, not right now. Maybe never. Maybe Misaka will never be able to forgive the Saviour. Does the Saviour understand how Misaka feels?"

"Perfectly understood."

Then came a matter none among them – not even Mikoto herself – had considered. With Misaka Worst present, with the Accelerator gone from the world, snuffed out, his empty, lifeless husk likely being torn apart by carnivorous marine life, what was there to do with her?

Kazakiri Hyouka, continually experiencing difficulties in manifesting beyond Academy City without the Accelerator's absurdly powerful AIM Field to augment those provided by Misaka Mikoto and Musujime Awaki, took her final, few moments to approach the limousine which had pulled up, gracefully bowing out from the situation that didn't involve her, in any capacity. Having hitched a ride all the way from the City of Science in the Far East, she was presently aware that her dear friend, Index, was somewhere inside.

Saint Lessar, too, distanced herself. Whatever was unfolding here did not involve her, either. Perhaps she'd inquire about it later, perhaps not.

"W-Worst?" Mikoto inquired, protectively taking to her younger Sister's side, as if being even more than a few feet away from the clone would put her in mortal danger, "do you wanna go back to Academy City? My, uh, friend here, she's a teleporter."

"What's the word?" Awaki rhetorically inquired, approaching cautiously. "What'll it be? _Sheesh_ , I'm basically a taxi at this point… And a coroner, too, I guess. It's all good though. I think the situation calls for it."

Misaka Worst shrugged, emulating Kamijou Touma's indifference.

"Misaka doesn't want to hang around here. Misaka… Has a lot to think about, now. Misaka… Misaka needs to find meaning."

It was a surprising bold statement for one such as Misaka Worst, who'd usually prefer to simply be vulgar or otherwise act in an impish manner, to the annoyance of anyone she'd happen to make a target of. Misaka Mikoto knew plenty about that side of her 'youngest' Sister, ironically the oldest, by biological measurements.

"Misaka needs **purpose**. Being tou-san's fucktoy and punching bag wasn't purpose. Misaka was just desperate. Misaka realizes now that she can do something, anything, with her worthless life, now. Misaka will have to think on it."

"You are **NOT** WORTHLESS!"

Taking both of her younger Sister's hands into her own, Mikoto clutched them close to her heart. Repulsed and disgusted by the act of kindness, Worst attempted to wriggle free, to no avail. Mikoto's will and grasp was too strong.

"Y-You're not. And I'm not just saying that because I'm your… B-Big sister. Y-You're so beautiful… Y-You can do anything. Y-You're… You're free now, Worst… Big sister will always be here, but I won't ever try to cage you. I want to love you, and support you – all of you – like I was never able to. I'm tired of failing you. I'm **so** tired of **failing** you!"

"Onee-sama," Worst grumbled, "you're making a scene. Misaka isn't into this. The Control Tower would enjoy this sort of attention, but not Misaka. Hands off."

Prying herself free, Worst folded her arms beneath her bosom, and sighed, exasperated.

"Misaka definitely doesn't want to stand around here all day, in this dumpy shithole," Worst explained sternly. "Misaka will think of some lie to tell the Control Tower. If she finds out tou-san is chewing dirt, bad things will happen. Misaka can't be affected by the Control Tower, but the other Units can. Misaka… Misaka is surprised to admit that she _doesn't_ want that. Misaka must be having an off day."

She turned, then, to Musujime Awaki.

"Oi, Dr. Tittyboob. You can teleport Misaka back to the City?"

Despite the seriousness of the moment – or, alternatively, perhaps because of it – Musujime Awaki found herself biting into her lip, struggling to hold back laughter. Kamijou Touma, though stern-faced and seemingly lost in contemplation uttered a short chortle in response.

"Y-Y… Yeah. Totally. Can do. District seven sound good?"

"Misaka doesn't care. Just don't put Misaka inside a wall, or up someone's ass."

Holding back her laughter was becoming increasingly difficult. Regardless, Awaki set about her task. Performing the necessary calculations, imagining the path through the eleventh dimension within her higher mind, the level five candidate Move Point closed what distance there was between herself and Worst. Raising an eyebrow in Mikoto's direction, as if to silently ask, _"anything else you want to say?"_ Awaki hesitated, offering the Railgun girl a moment's time.

"Worst…"

Though the desire to hug her younger-older Sister was very much present, Mikoto swallowed it, buried it before it could grow and attempt to overtake her better judgment. Worst was obviously offput by physical attention.

"I gave you my number in Hawaii. Remember? Use it, if you need big sister for _anything_. You can always use it."

"Onee-sama needs to get knocked up, so she can stop babying Misaka."

"Love you too, Worst."

With a warm, genuine smile, Mikoto offered a friendly wave to her younger-older Sister, who vanished from sight as soon as Move Point touched her bare skin.

"Sheesh."

Folding her arms behind the back of her head, beneath her twintails, Musujime Awaki stretched, standing upon her toes.

"What a mess this has all turned into. I wanted an interesting change of pace, but this is a little bit too interesting for me… I'll stick it out 'til the end, though. I'm tired of being a side character. I need a little adventure. Just… Not like _this_."

"Where'd Kazakiri go?"

Touma looked from there, to there, then back again. He craned his neck three hundred and sixty degrees like a young man possessed – his spine of interconnected, magnetically-linked nanites wasn't hindered like the spine of an 'average' human being – but found no sight of the angelic girl.

"She goes to my school. Sometimes," Awaki pointed out, tilting her head. "She's not very punctual. Good girl, though. What's her ability? She just disappear whenever she feels like it?"

Lessar knew an angel when she'd seen one, but ultimately decided not to speak up, nor add to the conversation, even. Rather, returning to her thoughts, the once-New Light girl clambered into the limousine, plopped herself down, and allowed either of her eyelids to slide shut with a soft, contented sigh. She practically sank into the cushioning of the limousine's seats.

"This Idio— guy who sometimes acts a bit foolishly **sure does know a lot of girls** ," Mikoto remarked smugly, almost accusingly. These childish antics were a welcome reprieve from the heaviness of the scenario which had unfolded so quickly, as if it had all been nothing but a blur, a ripple in time.

She was still trying to swallow this truth like an enormous, jagged pill.

Academy City's number one strongest esper, the immutable, omnipotent Accelerator, the one who could have fought the entire world alone, without needing to raise even a single finger to defend himself was _gone_. Not merely _gone_ , but _dead_. Finished. Disposed of.

Mikoto shook her head, as if she needed to physically move her brain about to scatter those heavy contemplations to the proverbial winds of her higher mind. It was an uncomfortable, dysphoric sensation. It felt as if the entire world spun whenever she thought too deeply about it.

"He certainly does~."

With a wink, Musujime Awaki was gone. She'd teleported herself back into the limousine. Falling into Kumokawa Seria's empty lap, the Move Point girl leered at Kamijou's upperclassman, then licked her lips. Seria accepted the distraction from her own burdening thoughts with open arms.

"That's dealt with," Touma spoke up, then, startling Mikoto slightly. "Doesn't really feel all that special. Anyone else in my position would be doing some kind of victory jig. " **Whoa, dude! I totally did it! I beat the number one!"**

Somehow, Touma's grim mockery of Accelerator's fate made everything a bit more amusing for the Railgun girl. His near-perfect imitation of a surfing, beachgoing Westerner had sold her on it, and Mikoto had bought.

She was sick, and she knew it; but what was there to be done about it? Such was the life of Misaka Mikoto, the Railgun girl.

"Y-You're off your rocker. But, so am I. We can both be fucked in ours heads together."

"What? You're _fine_ , Mikoto. You're—"

"N-No. I'm really not. You… Y-You saw me when I had the Attachment. It all brought out the worst of me. And there's a _LOT_ of bad to bring out, let me tell you."

"And _you_ get to see _me_ like this, Mikoto, so, we're even. A shame I didn't have any heroic monologues prepared for this. I'll have to start rehearsing again."

Shaking her head in disapproval, yet giggling awkwardly like the schoolgirl she was – even after not merely witnessing, but quietly revelling in the death of another human being – Misaka Mikoto accepted the insanity for what it was, wrapped either of her arms around Kamijou's own, and lead him towards the limousine, taking charge effortlessly, even over him. He could've resisted, but chose not to.

"S-Sit with me in there. I… Hey. I'll just be honest. I think I… I just want to hold onto you for a while, if that's alright. Alright?"

"Like I'd turn down an offer like that."

"You would've, a few months ago."

"You mean, a dead man would've, a few months ago."

Mikoto could've chastised him, but chose not to. Both Kamijou Touma and she found themselves making exceptions for one another, then.

Instead, sensing his uneasiness, sensing the tension that seemed to radiate from within him, feeling the cold, metallic touch of his fingers entangling themselves with her own, Mikoto drew closer, and offered what comfort a broken, worn soul like her could, silently, as they clambered into the limousine.

The pop music originating from the limousine's built-in speakers, though stale and bland by the opinions of most, but not all within the vehicle, offered a reprieve from the heavy-set tension that'd seemed to have blown in like a particularly foul wind.

"If we _don't_ have any further interruptions," Oriana remarked, tense, "onee-san will get this show back on the road."

There were no complaints whatsoever. Flooring it, Oriana Thomson brought the limousine to a skidding rush. It surged past the rapidly-flowing fields of natural overgrowth. Kamijou Touma noticed that Kazakiri Hyouka was still nowhere to be seen. Then again, if she'd hitched a ride the entire time – as he suspected – then, there was a chance she could have simply disappeared again.

It would be some minutes before the vehicle _finally_ found roadway. Flanked by aged, moss-covered fencing an open section of fencing acted as a gateway, welcoming the limousine into a realm of smoother sailing. The English countryside only seemed to become more beautifully brilliant as the limousine traversed the paved, manmade roadway. Occasionally-sighted, densely-packed groups of trees formed shaded canopies here and there. Some had built quaint little stone-wrought cottages throughout the countryside, close by the roadways, worn by time and exposed to the elements.

Index had certainly wished to return to the side of her 'keeper', but she noticed for herself that he and 'short-hair' were having some sort of moment. The two remained huddled close to one another. 'Short-hair' clung to him as if her life depended on it. They shared no words with one another; but such wasn't necessary.

Instead of making an annoyance of herself, the little silver-haired nun bothered the once-Magic God, Othinus, who welcomed her with only some reluctance. The adorable little nun was an infectious thing, even Othinus had to silently, mentally admit it to herself. Kumokawa Seria and Musujime Awaki politicked among themselves, seeing as Index had that their mutual benefactor was presently 'preoccupied', while 'Saint' Lessar had long since descended into a nap.

Before long, _it_ became visible. Bristol, in southeastern England. An elegant place, situated upon a breathtaking promenade overlooking the crystal-clear water. Arching bridges allowed for several promenades to interconnect with one another, which otherwise would have been separated considerably. Bristol was a location where modernity and the works of architects of antiquity seemed to clash, as if vying for domination. While sterile-coloured, grey, white and silver high-rise structures that wouldn't have looked out of place in Academy City rose towards the Heavens above, they were surrounded by aged, stone-wrought structures from ages past. Churches, downtown cores untouched by progress flanked by suburbs left to the past, spared by sterile modernity, elegant, well-maintained piers dotted with fishermen and parkgoers alike, all of these sights seemed to combine, forming something of a miniature utopia.

The woodlands surrounding Bristol had inexplicably become dense, expanding outwards for hundreds of miles. It was odd, how so much of the English countryside with its open, grassy plains could easily and naturally bleed into thick, dense woodlands. The winding tributaries which snaked through the woodlands and flowed into Bristol's cannels were akin to the North Sea's own veins.

"I-It's so beautiful!" Index exclaimed, pointing from sight to side, excitedly looking back to Othinus, as if for approval. The former Magic God rolled a single, functioning eye at the innocent little creature's antics.

"I only wish we could be visiting under better circumstances," Seria admitted, eyeing Bristol's beauty for herself.

"Doesn't have to be all doom 'n gloom," Awaki pointed out with a smug, knowing grin.

Othinus herself added, "quite. There'll be plenty of time for 'festivities', I think."

For the first time in a while, Kamijou spoke. Casting his gaze down to the level five Railgun girl who remained clinging to him, her eyelids having slid shut, he remarked, "it's definitely something, isn't it, 'biribiri'?"

"D-Don't push it."

The response inspired a chortle. Touma surprised himself, laughing so earnestly in the face of the act he'd committed.

She raised an eyebrow at him as her eyelids slid open, slowly, revealing the wide, curious-seeming irises within, those that matched the colouration of her short chestnut brown hair. She, too, found herself smirking, slightly. In spite of, or perhaps because of all she'd witnessed, and experienced, and _done_. Misaka Mikoto really _had_ been ready to rip the very iron from Accelerator's blood. She'd been ready to murder him, as Kamijou Touma had done.

Her thoughts were dark, but, by this point, Mikoto had grown used to the macabre considerations which floated within her higher mind like bobbing turds in a gas station's filth-encrusted toilet. That was how Misaka Mikoto viewed her own mind, her own brain; something disgusting, something tainted, something that could never be made clean, ever again, no matter what.

Oriana Thomson's words broke the Railgun free from her brooding, much to her silent appreciation.

"Onee-san would like to inform you that we're nearing our destination," she proclaimed for all to hear over the pop music that blared throughout the limousine. "No need for preparations. We've taken care of everything. Motel's ours, for as long as we need it. One of the benefits of being an ex-freelancer. Onee-san has made plenty of friends."

"Friends?" Kamijou inquired, perking up. "What sort of friends? You might have to introduce me."

"HAH! Your newfound forwardness is a sight to behold, I'll admit," Oriana practically barked, her infectious laughter causing Mikoto to chuckle. "If it's pleasures you're looking for, you don't have to look much further. Onee-san would love nothing more than to provide you with a… Woman's touch."

"You're _on_."

A part of Mikoto wanted to assert herself.

But, how was a girl who'd never been exposed to the uncensored male anatomy supposed to go about such things? This was something she simply lacked experience in. No amount of power as an esper could ever help her understand abstract concepts as these.

Kamijou Touma, on the other hand, seemed intimately familiar.

"You won't be excluding me," Othinus chimed in, then. "I'm quite older, and therefore, much womanlier than even yourself, courier."

"I'll second such a proclamation of intentions," Seria boldly added. "Tending to my Touma-kun's physical needs is presently at the top of my priorities."

"Sheesh. Someone needs to call the horny police."

Even Move Point had, seemingly, thrown her lot in and intended to stake a claim within the blossoming 'Kamijou Faction'. That left her, Misaka Mikoto, and the silver-haired nun, Index Librorum Prohibitorum, who seemed completely out of the loop. She occasionally looked from speaker to speaker, perhaps in an effort to try and understand the goings-on. Index's efforts ended in failure.

"Ladies, ladies," Touma coolly muttered, shrugging his shoulders. He held himself with the sort of confidence that a crime boss might have exuded, utterly secure with himself and his purpose, true to his self and with greater understanding of the world around him. He was cocky, prideful, even arrogant. "As I am now, it's literally impossible for me to run out of stamina. You just leave it all to this Kamijou-san. I'll make sure **my** girls get the attention they need."

She was sick. Mikoto couldn't get enough of this 'new and improved' Kamijou Touma. She should've been grieving for him, for what had happened to cause this – and she was, in her own way; she _did_ grieve, she'd never really _stopped_ grieving for him – yet, this, whatever it might've been, it was an instinctual tugging at her blossoming, womanly aspects that brought her to that shuddering pinnacle. That pleasurable sensation that rushed throughout her, running laps upon her spine as she imagined him feeling her body, kissing her all over…

" _Head out of the gutter, Mikoto! NOW! Out!"_

To move too fast would be to usher in doom. She'd keep her head on straight. At the very least, she'd have a companion in her self-imposed chastity; that silver-haired nun girl.

At the very least, that's how Mikoto had _thought_. Her actions proved to be very different to her thoughts.

"Hey."

Her words had emerged without her consent. As if she was programmed, being controlled by some outside force, Misaka Mikoto found herself leaning in close to him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders.

"Oi, Mikoto. How can this Kamijou-san be of service?"

"I need… P-Private time with you. W-We need to talk about some things. 'Kay?"

He raised his brow at that, but didn't protest. Returning the Railgun girl's embrace, he, too leaned in. Touma's freezing, cold lips pressed against Mikoto's neck. Once, twice, three times. The kisses he was leaving in trails caused Academy City's third-ranked level five to almost immediately burst into an intense, fiery crimson blush.

"For sure. Thanks for telling me."

"Y-Yeah. You're, uh, y-you're welcome."

The limousine came to a halt. Reversing, Oriana Thomson snuggly fit the vehicle into a parking bay. The motel's cramped parking accommodations were otherwise unobstructed; only two other vehicles, parked on the complete, other side in bays of their own were present. Surrounded by tall, oaken fencing, with small but intricately-designed, ornate flowerbeds, and thick, healthy bushes, the parking accommodations were far more impressive than the motel itself.

Not a location with a particularly loathsome appearance, it didn't particularly appear spectacular, either. It was somewhere in between. For a city like Bristol, this motel had no place in which it could truly 'belong'. It didn't appear entirely dissimilar to one of the student dormitories in Academy City's seventh school district. Three floors of rooms, separated from one another by dark-coloured, metallic staircases, were topped by a flat sheet of shingles layered over one another. Just outside the motel's entranceway doors, several plastic chairs had been haphazardly set about.

As the established group disembarked from the limousine, Kamijou Touma's forcibly-heightened senses, having set his machine phase-matter to constantly scan his surroundings for potential threats, seemed to catch just that.

Whatever _it_ was, _it_ leapt from a mess of rustling bushes, darting like greased lightning…


	34. Uncertain Meetings

Whatever _it_ was, _it_ leapt from a mess of rustling bushes, darting like greased lightning…

Kamijou could sense it, detect it. High forcibly-ascended higher mind was more than capable of keeping up with it. In the time it took a flesh-and-blood human being to blink, Kamijou's mind, much more a supercomputer in the present than a biological brain performed innumerable calculations, created algorithms, and formed a plan of attack.

" _Execute Tactical Protocol._

" _HIGHMIND TERMINAL:/ FORCE PROTOCOL LAUNCH SUBROUTINE. "TACTICAL" RECOGNIZED SYSTEMS PROTOCOL. LAUNCHING. RECOMMENDING COMBAT PROCEDURES BASED ON SITUATIONAL FACTORS, OPPOSING COMBATANT FEATS. OPPOSING COMBATANT: ?/UNKNOWN. LAUNCH ENVIRO-SCAN PROTOCOL?_

" _No. Forget it. I'll deal with this myself._

" _UNDERSTOOD. DEFERRING TO MASTER."_

Hardened, dense blades of sharpened machine phase-matter clashed with the protruding claws of the assailant's odd handwear. Sparks flew as the blades crashed into one another with such force that there were short, repeated tremors that shook the earth.

Two superior beings. One of Science, the other of Magic.

"You would've preferred me before. When I was just a 'high school boy you can find anywhere'. When I had to rely on some fucking _stupid_ right hand to do anything. Such misfortune… For you."

"Well-spoken, lad. Like a proper warrior."

All who were present looked upon the assailant, who found himself – or perhaps herself, or perhaps _itself_ – pitted against Kamijou Touma, who pushed with great force, with deadly intent against the gleaming, protruding claws.

The stranger was clad in a simplistic outfit; a tracksuit. It was olive-colored, with baby blue streaks running down either outer leg of suit's pants, and along either of its inner arms. The top piece of the tracksuit had its collar popped, its zipper pulled some ways downward, exposing a simplistic white top beneath.

Around his neck a cloak was tied; it was olive-colored, much like the tracksuit. In the sunlight, it could clearly be seen by all present that the cloak had been hastily stitched together. On his head, the stranger wore a strange, milky-colored mask, with a gill-like protrusion on either side, where his ears were, presumably, beneath the mask. The facial expression of the mask was one of surprise, or perhaps confused bewilderment, and two strategically-cut holes revealed two glowing, ember-like orbs where eyes should've been.

The sunlight illuminated what was visible of his skin. His neck's skin was pale, almost bluish in coloration. On either of his hands, he wore a glove, whose four fingers and thumb each ended in long talon-like claws. The cuffs of his tracksuit's pants were tucked into a pair of fashionable, calf-high boots.

"Hold it!" Saint Lessar exclaimed, stepping in and forcing Kamijou back. With a grunt, and an aggressive glare shot in the Saint's direction, he stood down.

For a passing moment, Lessar had experienced deep, considerable fear at the sight of his expression contorting in such a way. Kamijou's empty, dull eyes had been filled with malice the likes of which Lessar had never seen from him.

"He's with us, loverboy. Slow it down."

"Sorry, Lessar…"

"It's fine."

Before he could utter a word, Touma found one of his swarming, nanorobotic blade-arms clutched tightly, lovingly in the arms of another. Peering down, he saw the silver-haired little nun, Index Librorum Prohibitorum. Their eyes' respective gazes met.

Evidently, she'd sensed something off about him. Had it been his body language? His instantaneously, inhumanly quick reflexes? His immediate attempt at harming the stranger who'd lunged from the bushes? Even Index herself couldn't answer such questions.

What she knew beyond a shadow of a doubt was that she _needed_ to be at his side; and, so, there she was.

"Tou-ma."

She tilted her head, slightly; if Kamijou still had a beating human heart, it would have melted in his chest.

"In-dex. I know you don't like it when I talk like that. I wasn't thinking."

"It's ok, Touma. I understand."

Those jutting, swarming blade-arms retracted, descended into twirling, ribbon-like masses of magnetically-linked nanomachines, then resettled into human hands, with human skin. Gentle and soft, if cold to the touch. Regardless of this development, Index remained close.

"Didna mean ta scare ye, lad 'n lasses. T'was jus' a l'il spook ah tried ta play on ye."

The stranger bowed politely, one arm extended, the other folded beneath his waistline.

"Me friends jus' call me Jack. Spring-Heeled Jack."

There were gasps. Kumokawa Seria, Misaka Mikoto and the once-Magic God Othinus had been among those who'd swiftly, forcefully inhaled as a result of the proclamation.

He peered up, slowly rising.

"Now, what's this, then? Yer not who ol' Jack was expectin', right proper. Oi, One-Eyed Odin. Good ta see ye again. 'Ow long tis it been? A few millennia?"

Whatever history these two had, not even Kamijou Touma was aware of it. He peered back at the one-eyed former Magic God, who shrugged in his direction. Her expression was one Touma could almost immediately read, like the pages of an open book, effortlessly.

" _I'll tell you later."_

That would have to do. Nodding in understanding, Touma protectively wrapped his arms around the little silver-haired nun's shoulders, and held her close. So close, in fact, that Index found herself blushing a deep, crimson blush.

Soon, Kumokawa Seria was at his side. Though her mind nearly reeled at the queer sight before her, she recalled her purpose; her reason for being here in the first place. _Anything_ was better than another painful second back in Academy City, worrying, suffering, wondering. Rather than be anywhere else, Seria wanted to be _here_. With _him_.

"I'm here, Touma-kun. Don't count your senpai out just yet."

"I wouldn't, Seria. Not in a million years. Not today, not tomorrow. Not ever."

Musujime Awaki had certainly found that odd. "One-Eyed Odin"? What a nickname for someone to have. Wasn't this girl supposed to be 'Olivia', a distant relative of Kamijou's, from Denmark? She'd come to Academy City to develop an esper ability. That had been the explanation Kumokawa Seria had offered, at least. One which Misaka Mikoto had backed up.

Misaka Mikoto herself had, like Index and 'Beauty-Senpai', taken to the forefront. Electricity leapt from her body freely. Arcing bolts of lightning seemed to lash out at the atmosphere itself.

"Alright, you bitch. Tell us what's going on, _right now_."

The Railgun girl was deadly serious. She took a single step forward, one loafer slapping against the concrete, then another. She tensed.

"Or I'll zap you until you're just a smoking pile of ash, 'Saint' or not!"

Kamijou offered no resistance, nor did he attempt to dissuade Misaka Mikoto. If she wished to step down from her threat, that was _her_ business, not his. Neither Kumokawa Seria nor Index seemed particularly quick to try and protest the Railgun girl's threats, either.

"Sheesh, it's just one thing after another. Exciting! I can almost **taste** it! Let's sic it to 'em, Railgun!"

"You're on, Musujime-san!"

Musujime Awaki was there, next to the Railgun. She'd been standing there, in one spot, for a moment's time. Then she'd appeared elsewhere. Even Spring-Heeled Jack had to admit, he was impressed.

"I never did mean any 'arm, lad 'n lasses," Jack extrapolated. "Seems _someone_ forget ta inform our friends 'ere about some important matters, eh?"

"Forgot? No," Oriana Thomson interrupted, stepping forward in an effort to act as a mediator. "We were held up, temporarily. A bit of a bump in the road. I'm still not certain about everything that's going on. But, now we're here. And explanations can begin. Are the clearing fields in place?"

"Already done," Jack remarked passingly. "Didna take too long fer ol' Uncle Jack to get 'er did."

With an arm around Index's shoulders and another around his senpai's waist, Kamijou Touma raised an eyebrow in Jack's direction.

"I'm supposed to be killing you. Academy City wants you dead. What am I supposed to make of that? They want you "dealt with". You're Sons of Taured. You're the ones destabilizing the world. Academy City doesn't seem to like it. And because of you, I'm here. So are the precious people I love and adore. You definitely have explaining to do. Get on it. If I don't like what I hear, you're **dead**."

Misaka Mikoto giggled, nervously. Where had such a vocalization come from? Her lips pursed; the Railgun girl struggled to hold back another.

"We're not doin' this, are we, Railgun? Sheesh. I got all worked up for nothing."

"I think we might still get a chance, Musujime-san."

What had become of Kamijou Touma, that Idiot hero who blabbered about how the world should always smile, and how no one should ever have to lose their life? Here he was, threatening someone with death. She knew, deep in her heart, that he would at least attempt to keep his word.

Once more, Seria found herself out of place; but it hardly mattered.

It was One-Eyed Othinus, then, who stepped forward. She passed Kamijou Touma, and the members of the blossoming 'Kamijou Faction' by. Mere feet from the one who'd identified as 'Spring-Heeled Jack', she stared him down.

Two equals from ages past stared one another down in the present.

"Many millennia it certainly has been, Terror of London. I recall you from a time before you took such a name for yourself. But, is it truly _you_? Or an imposter who has used Idol Theory to take your power for themselves?"

"Only one way ta answer that l'il question, Odin… Ye know, ye suddenly seem punier than I remember. Somethin' 'appen, lass? Yer not wearin' yer ol' garb, neither. A change 'a 'eart?"

Othinus looked back to Kamijou Touma, and offered him a genuine, knowing smile. It was one he offered in kind. Nodding in approval and Understanding, Touma remained behind, observing. Othinus had been nigh-omnipotent, once. Even as a depowered, utterly normal human being, she could surely handle herself. Touma placed his concern aside, but did _not_ abandon it entirely.

"… That is one way of describing what has become of me, Terror of London. I am mortal now. Not a drop of divinity flows through my veins."

"Hah? That's somethin', Odin."

"You were about to do something, Terror of London. You ought to. For _your own sake_."

For the briefest of moments, Kamijou found himself reminded of the Othinus that had once been. Forceful. Arrogant. All-powerful. Immutable, omnipotent, omnipresent. A force beyond reckoning. Evidently, _that part_ of herself still lingered, and the once-Magic God wielded it as a weapon, a hideous, malformed blunt weapon.

Even as he was in the present, ascended, an artificial being converted into a living mass of machine phase-matter, capable of feeling pain only if he wished to feel it, Kamijou shuddered unconsciously. His memories remained, for better or for worse.

Sensing the rising tension emanating from him despite his 'artificial' existence, Kumokawa Seria clung tighter. She placed her fingers' tips to her kohai's lips, and gently stroked them. Turning his face to hers, she smiled at him, her eyelids narrowing. Index, too, huddled closer.

He wasn't alone for this. He had the people he loved and cared about so much, right here, with him. He _wasn't_ alone. Perhaps for the first time, in some completely fucked up situation such as this one, Kamijou wasn't alone.

Spring-Heeled Jack rose, then to meet Othinus' challenge. The former Magic God had folded her arms across her chest, spread her legs apart, stood proud, mighty, and watched on expectantly. Touma, Index, and Seria alike were reminded of Fukiyose Seiri, the Iron Wall girl.

Given the time those two spent together, more often than not, it made sense. 'Fukiyose-sama' had unconsciously rubbed off on Othinus, it seemed.

The mask came off. Jack pulled it from his face with the sharpened digits protruding from his gloves. Then, once it was pulled away, he tossed his hood back. Shaking his head from side to side swiftly, as if issuing a challenge, Spring-Heeled Jack revealed himself.

His face, very much like the skin of his exposed neck, was pale, almost light blue in colouration. A small, pointed, but very much extravagant – and exceedingly gentlemanly – mustache adorned his upper lip. Those burning, ember-likes eyes could be seen in all of their hideous glory. They stared _into_ Othinus. Unfazed, Othinus stared back. Dark-coloured, slicked-back hair adorned his head.

"Hm. So, it **is** you, and not an Idol Theory imitator. To think that you yet live is intriguing; though I yet live, as well. I would ask, then, Terror of London, just how did you come to throw your lot in with a cult that seeks to bring about the End Times?"

"End Times? Nay, nay, lass. No "End Times". In fact, I reckon th' times tis only fidda become better, once the Sons o' Taured get a hold 'a things."

It was Saint Lessar's turn to take to this 'stage', as it was. She approached casually, even with a colossal, wooden cross strapped to her back.

"Here's the short end of it. The Amakusa-Style Remix of Church is with the Sons of Taured. For a better world. For a world free of tyranny. There's a lot that you don't understand, Kamijou and company. There's a lot that a lot of people don't understand. The Priestess can explain it better than I, or Thomson-san, or even Jack-san here can. But she's preoccupied right now."

'The Priestess'? Kamijou wracked his forcibly-ascended brain, for a moment. 'Priestess'. That title was held by Kanzaki Kaori, wasn't it? One of Index's closest, dearest friends; and a poor fool whose good-natured, genuine desire to help had been turned against her. By who? Touma didn't know.

He chortled.

"So, you've turned against the Church of England? Is that it?"

Touma's summary of the situation shocked Index from her silence.

"K-Kaori did what?!"

Misaka Mikoto, Musujime Awaki, and Kumokawa Seria alike remained lost and, effectively, out of the loop; the latter less so than the others.

"The point is," Oriana began, breaking her own silence, "The Sons of Taured aren't the enemy. Certainly not the enemy you've been told they are, by Academy City. I can only suspect the Church of England's own Backstabbing Blade has his hands deep in this."

"He'll be deep in a wooden box when I'm done with him," Touma snapped. "He could've left me and the people I care about alone. But no. That wasn't good enough for him. This is what he's _always_ done."

Freeing himself from Index and Kumokawa Seria by descending into a swarming, churning mass of machine phase-matter, Touma then reassembled with terrifying speed, stepping towards Spring-Heeled Jack and Othinus. As he passed even her, he placed a hand reassuringly upon her shoulder, and squeezed lightly.

"I _could_ find a way to kill you. I _could_ make one. It wouldn't be hard, Jack. What happens if I do, though? You're not the beginning and you're not the end. That snake, Tsuchimikado, would be turning me on someone else. This is what they've done since the beginning, when I met Index. They knew I cared for her - loved her so, so much – and that they could make me do anything they wanted, for her sake."

His fist clenched onto itself, violently. Index herself stared, wide-eyed, at her guardian.

"… And I kept falling for it, like the fucking idiot I was. I was their shitty attack dog. More than one person's mutt. But I'm not like that anymore. So… 'Spring-Heeled Jack'. Lessar. Ms. Thomson. You scratch my back, I'll scratch yours.

"You do me a tiny little favour, and I'll find a way to have your backs. To a reasonable extent. Nobody's my master anymore. I don't take orders from _anyone_. My loyalties aren't with Academy City, and they're not with anyone on the Magic Side, either.

"I'm loyal to myself, and to the people I love. You get me a meeting with Kanzaki, and if I find everything acceptable… Well, let's wait to cross that bridge until we get there. Honestly? I don't trust any of you to tell the truth; but I _do_ trust Kanzaki. That's just how it is. Take it, or leave it. I couldn't care less."

"And what favour would that be?" Oriana Thomson inquired, taking to the side of Lessar, her fellow Amakusa Christian. It was as if a divide had been drawn, there. All present noticed this, but ultimately said nothing about it.

Without Kanzaki Kaori present, things seemed to be taking a turn towards a standstill. Towards, potentially, the worst.

"You tell me who insisted on having Index's memories wiped every single year. You tell me who put Kanzaki and Stiyl up to it, strung them around and made them hurt a completely innocent girl. You tell me who did it, so I can fucking **gut** them."

Lessar's vision shifted. She was uneasy. What would the appropriate answer be? Yes, _she_ was the enemy of the Sons of Taured, and an enemy of the free world, a world free of tyranny, one among several; but whatever had come upon Kamijou Touma, whatever had happened to him, to make him like _this,_ it had changed him. No longer was he the complacent, easily-flustered boy Lessar had first spent considerable time with in Russia.

He was something different in the present. Something stronger. Something far more dangerous.

Finally, Lessar answered; Kamijou seemed to grow impatient with the silence.

"That's something the Priestess will have to tell you more about, loverboy."

"Looks like it's on Kanzaki, then."

She'd called him that not because she sought to tease or otherwise flirt with him; but because calling him that brought Lessar back to a simpler time. When she'd lifted her skirt to show off her panties and flustered him. When she'd poked at his uniform's pants while they shared moments together in the backseat of a van. His face would always flair up, become an intense, crimson blush. He'd nearly wretch at the sight, turn his face like he'd been staring upon some unknowable cosmic horror.

Now, none of that was left. All that even seemed to _be_ left was **cold, furious rage**. A sort of disturbing, **tranquil fury** that didn't manifest in violent, monstrous fits, but something more calculated. Something that was carefully considered and planned out.

That just made him all the more terrifying, to her. Kamijou Touma had truly become a source of terror for Saint Lessar.

Just what had even happened to him?

Lessar had no way of knowing it – in fact, no one, save for Academy City's General Superintendent had a way of knowing it – but, the Kamijou Touma she knew had been, effectively, programmed all along.

A living human being entrapped within a cycle, bound to act a certain way, and perform certain actions, following certain guidelines. An archetype. A result of the Aleister Crowley's own **Archetype Controller**.

But even Aleister Crowley's most powerful scientific technology had limits. That is to say, a washing machine could _not_ be affected by the **Archetype Controller**. A toaster could _not_ be affected by the **Archetype Controller**. That which Kamijou Touma had become; an artificial, cybernetic being enhanced, forcibly ascended and entirely replaced on a genetic level with nanorobotic machine phase-matter, could _not_ be affected by the **Archetype Controller.**

"Lad, th' business tis all right complicated," Jack explained as best he could. "I reckon there're more important matters ta be seen ta. Yer vengeful. Anyone wit' a pair o' workin' eyes could see that. Ye've been lied ta, yanked 'round, sent 'ere n' there, 'n made a fool o'."

"The Sons of Taured aren't terrorists, or cultists, or what Academy City would have you believe. If we're even being acknowledged," Oriana stated then, plainly. "The current system is cancerous. It's exactly what lead to you and I meeting the way we did, Kamijou-kun. Things _have_ to change. They just _have_ to."

All save for Kamijou Touma and Othinus knew not what Oriana spoke of.

"So, hold it," Mikoto spoke aloud, electricity still leaping from her body. "These Taured people, the people we _came_ all this way to _stop,_ are actually with the good guys? And Touma – and us – we were all just being pulled around by… The bad guys? I can't make sense of this."

"Anyone who willingly associates with the likes of _Tsuchimikado_ is certainly not a 'good guy', Misaka-san," Seria passingly remarked with an aggressive half-grunt. She really was beginning to hate him, more and more. She really was beginning to understand why her kohai felt as strongly as he did about the Backstabbing Blade.

"Think o' it like this, lass," the Spring-Heeled one remarked, then, "if magic wasn't bein' hoarded th' way it is, diseases would be knocked off th' face o' th' Earth in a day. If countries were wantin' ta settle things in th' old way, they could use magic ta summon up some lifeless, puppet fighters ta fight th' battles, instead o' throwin' human lives away."

He shook his head. His lips curled downward, into a scowling frown.

"But, that sorta thinkin' is dangerous, lass. Dangerous fer the folks at th' top o' the pyramid. When everybody's equal, lass, th' ones at th' top can't proper rule anyone, can they? Rulin' is how they like it, see. Somethin' wrong with 'em, right proper."

She tried to reason it as best she could in her head. The Railgun girl imagined – and felt a bit bad for imagining it the way she did – Shokuhou Misaki, Tokiwadai's Queen, struggling for control with a Tokiwadai Middle School student body who possessed the same power she did, Mental Out. She couldn't rule. And, until recently, Shokuhou Misaki certainly enjoyed ruling, as much as she could.

Someone like Shokuhou didn't merely _enjoy_ the status quo. It was their lifeline. It helped them escape from their own problems. By dominating others, by projecting a false front of power, and glamour, by becoming the object of envy and lust, they buried their skeletons deep into their closet.

She chuckled.

Misaka Mikoto, herself, was no different. Beneath the veneer of 'the Railgun', the model esper for the world to behold, the standard at which all were held, the level five electromaster who had worked her ass off from day one to become as strong a she was, there was something sinister. Something fundamentally broken. A traumatized girl with anger issues and post-traumatic stress that wracked her every thought.

"… By making everyone equal with magic, no one would ever be able to rule over anyone else. The average person could take matters into their own hands, right? The average person wouldn't be completely helpless while the world just… Keeps turning around them. Right?"

"Right, lass," Jack answered, nodding affirmatively.

"I want to see that world."

An enormous, arcing bolt of electricity shot outwards from the top of her head; raging, it surged through the clouds. Thunder boomed from nowhere; despite the fact that no grey, oppressive storm clouds were present, the world shook beneath Mikoto's silent declaration.

"There will undoubtably be conflict and suffering to achieve such ends," Seria sagely pointed out.

"Conflict and suffering are cornerstones of humanity's existence," Othinus stated flatly. "Life necessitates suffering."

"Indeed, 'Olivia-chan'. Indeed."

Othinus seemed to gravitate towards Kumokawa Seria once more; the latter kindly welcomed the former.

"I'm completely lost," Awaki spoke. She'd seated herself upon the hood of the limousine and poked at her smartphone's screen. "Someone should definitely give me the abridged version later. This is crazy cool, though. It's like a mystery novel. Whodunit?"

The silver-haired nun, Index, had run back to Touma's side; his arm was around her almost immediately. Embracing her tightly, the little nun's keeper protectively ensured that she felt safe with him. Gently, softly, he stroked the side of her face with his fingers' tips, then provided her with a kiss to the forehead.

Mikoto had certainly been quick to jump on board; which made sense, from his perspective.

Everything 'Spring-Heeled Jack' stated was true. He could've denied again and again; there wouldn't have been a use in doing so.

"You know how I view this situation. I've already said what I have to say. I'm not going to try and take the moral high ground, or babble like an idiot about how "everyone can be saved". You give me my meeting with Kanzaki, and if everything checks out with her, you have this Kamijou-san. Then, I find whoever hurt Index. There aren't any guarantees. At this point, I really don't care what happens to the world."

His embrace around the little silver-haired nun tightened. He kissed her, again, on the top of her head.

Somehow, those words spoken by him disturbed her. Index felt a sudden, discomforting pang in her chest. It was as if some bladed weapon had pierced her chest.

" _At this point, I really don't care what happens to the world."_

How deeply pained was Kamijou Touma? Just how deep did his scars run? The Kamijou Touma she'd met on July 19th would never have said such a thing.

"And I'll go where Touma goes," Index explained. "I'm going to help him no matter what!"

She settled her internal debate then and there.

"I want you to be with me, wherever I end up," Touma spoke, softly, reinforcing the nun's sudden burst of bravado. "I want you, all of you, here with me. I love all of you _so_ much."

"I'm here because I'm booo~ooooored," Musujime Awaki extrapolated with a yawn. "And, hey. Global conspiracy. No way I'm _not_ getting into THAT. I guess I'll just fuck up some peoples' good days for fun."

Kumokawa Seria, feeling no need to explain herself to strangers, merely took to Kamijou Touma's side; shadowed by Othinus, the once-Magic God who seemed to have some knowledge of this claw-handed freak of nature who'd started all of this madness, she placed either of her arms around her kohai's own. He welcomed her with a short, but passionate kiss to her lips. Othinus promptly received one, as well.

"I love you too, my precious little kohai."

Negotiations – as they were – seemed to have reached something of a standstill. Oriana Thomson, Saint Lessar and Jack alike realized this for what it was. Until Saint Kanzaki Kaori could be present, Kamijou Touma's aid couldn't be ensured. Still, considerable firepower originating from Academy City – and outside of it, in the case of Index Librorum Prohibitorum – would be a welcome boon to the Sons of Taured, and the Amakusa Christians both.

"This day's been a long, strenuous and unsteady one," Oriana began, standing tall, taking control of the situation. "Why don't we retire? The motel is ours, for the time being. Everyone can feel free to pick out a room, and drop into a bed. Onee-san will take care of all the specifics…"

In an effort to alleviate what tension remained within the environment, the courier and ex-freelancer winked in Touma's direction.

"… Onee-san also wouldn't mind taking care of you, either, Kamijou-kun."

"Disclaimer," Touma came in response, "when you forget how to talk for a while, don't blame me. You asked for this, Thomson."

Incoming data informed him that he should've felt the glare drilling into the back of his head. If looks could have killed, and if Touma had been a living, flesh-and-blood human being, he would have died from the feeling alone. Without even needing to look with his own two eyes – he had nanorobotic scout-units to do that for him – he knew. Touma _knew_ it was Misaka Mikoto. He'd promised her something, hadn't he?

"… But, I won't be able to visit for a while. I actually have business with someone that I want to attend to, before anything else."

The glare subsided; for the moment, Touma was off the hook. He chortled at the thought. Out of all of those present, Misaka Mikoto was the only one who could really, truly harm him, if only temporarily. Touma knew, partially thanks to experience, and partially thanks to bursts of nigh-omniscient data, that the Railgun girl's electricity could easily destabilize his magnetic field, reduce him to a mound of disconnected machine phase-matter that would have to be carried around like a beachball.

"Fine and well, Kamijou-kun," Oriana teased with a wink and a sly, vaguely sinister grin. She promptly turned her back, threw open the metallic, glass-bound entranceway doors of the out-of-place motel, and disappeared within, like a chunk of food snatched up in the gullet of some enormous creature.

As Jack leapt away, darting like greased lightning, descending into an olive-coloured blur which disappeared upon the motel's roof, Saint Lessar tilted her head to one side, and offered a genuine-seeming expression of regret.

"Sorry you all had to get dragged into this."

She too turned and vanished into the motel, passing through the entranceway doors and into the poorly-lit interior within.

There was silence, then, for a while. Eventually, it was broken by Kamijou, who spoke aloud to all present.

"Looks like it's adventure time again. When you associate with this Kamijou-san, _this_ is the sort of wonderful situation you can expect to wind up in. So? Who's having second thoughts?"

"Not I, for one," Seria spoke up. "I would much prefer to be here than anywhere else, my kohai."

"Nor I," Othinus added with a nod of affirmation to no one in particular.

"Wherever you're going, I'm going, Touma!" Was Index's response to the rhetorical question posed by her guardian.

Misaka Mikoto stomped her loafer-clad foot down on the concrete. Crackling electricity arced about her, encapsulating her. The Railgun girl's bangs were buffeted about as a result.

"D-Don't think for a second that I'm backing down now! Whatever this is, there's no _way_ I'm letting you face it by yourself! I'm closing this stupid distance between us no matter what!"

Most tellingly, Musujime Awaki had teleported behind the once-boy; she wrapped her arms around his shoulders, and leaned in, close.

"I never was one to fall back when the heat gets turned up. Your he~ro senses are just tingling a little bit too strong. Chill out, Kamijou."

What else was there to do? Kamijou Touma shook his head, chuckling, and spread either of his arms wide.

"… How about a group hug, from **my** beautiful girls?"

And almost instantaneously, he was swarmed.

He owned it. He loved it. So did they, by the looks of it. Even Misaka Mikoto, who Touma had assumed would've had a tougher time swallowing this particular pill seemed completely contented with her 'share' of him.

" _Why did I ever avoid this, again?"_

* * *

Academy City.   
February 12th, 2:35 AM.

The unexpected screeching of his smartphone's ringer had startled him from his exceedingly light sleep. Shuddering, still clothed in his cheap, dirtied and bloodied two-piece suit – it was almost as if the clothing had fused with his very skin – Dave Horton grabbed his smartphone, nearly slammed the device against his ear, and yawned loudly.

"Gladio-Oculus operative Dave Horton. If this is about the coup attempt in Paraguay, I don't know anything about it."

"Voidwalker has deserted…"

The words sounded unsure, like the speaker felt as if they walked upon eggshells. That wasn't entirely untrue; the speaker couldn't have possibly seen it, but, the Gladio-Oculus operative's eyelids shot open, nearly tearing from the sheer force.

" **WHAT**?! SHIT! Shit, shit, SHIT! You're SHITTING ME!"

The meek-sounding Kaizumi Tsugutoshi muttered something incoherent on the other end of the call. The sounds of some object – perhaps a pen – repeatedly clacking against a solid surface wrang out, as opposed to immediate, further words.

"I shouldn't have let that little shit walk out! SHIT! **SHIT**! What the fuck are we going to do?!"

"Aleister-sama has recommended, but not directly authorized the use of a covert ops teams, with transportation provided into English airspace through traditional means… I'll leave the matter of smoothing things over with the British Royal Family to your organization. Moreover, Aleister-sama has also authorized the use of Academy City's… Anti-Matter Bombs."

Horton seemed to calm. Inhaling deeply, his bloodshot eyes settled back into place, having nearly bugged out entirely from within their sockets. He'd put Hamasaki Tsubasa threw Hell for this, one day; but today was _not_ that day.

"Of course. Draft some snipers, follow our embedded sleeper agents' instructions, snipe Birdway. That little psychotic bitch Yumiya will probably do it for a couple million Yen. Before he completely **fucked** us all, Hamasaki managed to get something useful from the Sons of Taured. Leso. Greek Island, Leso. That's where they're supposed to be. Could be total bullshit, could be a lead. We shut this thing down before it gets any worse, everything goes back to normal."

"You seem awfully antsy, if not eager, to murder a twelve-year-old, Horton-san."

"Don't you fucking preach to me, Kaizumi! Good-bye!"

Ending the phone call with the swift, shaky press of a single button upon the device's touchscreen, Dave Horton threw himself back in bed, wrapped his pillow over his face, and screamed…

" **SHIT**!"


	35. The Point of No Return

There was an extended period that passed, in which silence seemed to descend upon the party like a thick, woollen blanket cast over the form of a sleeping child. The march towards the motel had begun; Kamijou Touma found himself flanked on all sides, supported, loved, adored. He couldn't have possibly felt any better in that moment.

For once, for the first time, he was _not_ alone.

In Lessar's absence, the little nun with the silver hair, Index, took to the side of her 'keeper', who was apparently set to keep his eyes' vision focused on "Spring-heeled Jack", who stood casually across from him on the other side of the vehicle. Misaka Mikoto and Musujime Awaki, too, had taken to Kamijou Touma's side while Othinus and Kumokawa Seria seemingly forming their own 'group', not particularly far away from Kamijou Touma's own 'group'.

"Would you happen to know anything about this? What seems to be a turn of events, that is," Seria spoke, looking in the direction of the former Magic God.

In response, the golden-haired beauty of innumerable years merely stood with her arms folded across her chest. She tilted her head to one side as she seemingly analyzed the form of Spring-heeled Jack.

"Considerably laxer than when we last met," Othinus finally responded, following a period of short, if choking silence. "To be fair, when the Terror of London and myself last met at a crossroads, I stood before him as a god and not as a mere mortal. He could hardly complete… and had plenty of reason to be concerned."

"I do find myself wondering… if you don't mind my asking, I would inquire. What was it like, Olivia-chan?"

For a moment, Kumokawa Seria's voice dropped in volume, becoming a conspiratorial whisper.

"To be a god."

In physical response, "Olivia-chan" clicked her tongue. Resting her hand upon the shoulder of her Understander's senpai, she leaned in close, and whispered in an equally soft, hushed tone.

"That would require me to explain matters I would much prefer to be left as unknowns. Surely you recall that I did previously mention that there are some questions better off left unanswered, and this is one of many."

Seria nodded her head, gently, yes in affirmation, an act of understanding. She wouldn't push the issue any further.

Kamijou Touma looked to his senpai and offered her a reassuring grin; his senpai responded in kind, smiling back with as much genuine mirth as she could muster. Raising the index and middle fingers of her right hand to her lips, Seria pressed a kiss to them, and threw her hand outwards.

He caught it, and placed the airborne kiss to his own lips, chuckling softly, while Index and the Move Point user, Musujime Awaki exchanged words. Misaka Mikoto seemed to have gone silent, and merely kept a _very_ close eye on the queer existence identifying itself as 'Spring-heeled Jack'. Occasionally, a current of electricity would jump from her forehead, or from her shoulders or her fingertips.

"So, then, "magic" was created by God? Is that it?"

"No, no," Index responded, placing either of her hands upon her hips. Looking the Move Point girl in the eye, she leaned forward.

"Magic wasn't created by anyone, but it's a force that allows man to make their wishes come true, _through_ the power of God, and through God's love for mankind, such things are made possible! That's what Necessarius teaches to the special members of the Church of England who are part of Necessarius."

Perhaps, if Awaki had been a character in a manga, or alternatively an illustration in a light novel, she might've sweat-dropped.

"I think I get it…"

Awaki crossed either of her arms beneath her bosom, military flashlight still it hand.

"In the sense that I don't get it at all; but I know I can do it. Following the instructions in one of those pamphlets, I made fire, after I did some sort of… mirror-ritual-thing."

Index had readied a reply; she'd thought of the words she was going to speak, inside of her the confines of her higher mind. They'd been on the tip of her tongue, about to be vocalized. She quickly found herself stumbling, however when audible stimuli seemingly cut off the connection between mind and tongue, at least temporarily.

The cheap, metallic doors of the motel were thrown open, leading into the cramped lobby.

A newcomer stood before "Kamijou Touma's Party".

Unnaturally tall for her age, partially due to the enormous pair of chopine shoes she wore, crafted of light-toned wooden material and likely harvested from some exotic rainforest or another, she walked angrily towards the form of Spring-heeled Jack. Thirty centimeters thick, her otherwise bare feet were strapped within the interesting choice of footwear.

With bright, red hair, styled into many pencil-thin braids she was otherwise clad in regular attire, clothing most wouldn't have batted an eye at for even a second; a simple, long-sleeved cyan shirt with the logo of some fashionable clothing provider embroidered in the centre and thin, hemmed denims coloured like an unmarred blanket of snow. A light-coloured belt held her choice of legwear in place upon her almost absurdly thin waist.

"You just couldn't help it, could you? Wretched, overeager…"

"I became eager ta greet me allies," Jack explained, head hung in apparent shame. "I realize now that me eagerness to greet 'em may 'ave caused a bit 'o unwarranted trouble. I would politely ask for yer forgiveness, Miss Sanctis."

From her back, the girl with the red, braided hair hastily unstrapped, and then produced an enormous weapon. Taller even than her, its many leaf-like protrusions were bound together at its tip. Though they didn't unfurrow, she poked "Jack" with the strange-looking polearm before she beat him over the head with it, once, apparently for good measure.

"You nearly disturbed the entirety of this operation. Hold your urges in check, or I'll discipline you myself."

Then, a vocalization broke up the moment of abuse.

"Agnese-san? Thank **fuck!** Finally, something I can understand! You're _definitely_ Amakusa! C'mere!"

In response, Agnese Sanctis cast her gaze to the speaker, Kamijou Touma, who was swiftly moving towards her.

Then, unexpectedly, and certainly not unwarrantedly, Kamijou Touma took the former Roman Orthodox Church adherent and former Leader of the Agnese Forces into his arms.

"B-Boy?! It's… ah? Um. Well…"

"It's great to see you, I really, really missed you; I wasn't expecting to see you, either. Snake never said anything about it, but don't think that I'm complaining. I actually _trust_ you. Agnese-san, tell me what's going on here, before I have to beat the truth out of someone. At least until I can get the truth out of Kanzaki. I'm… I mean, _we're_ supposed to be beating up on this Spring-heeled Jack guy, yet it seems like the Amakusa are friends with him."

"I'm offended," Lessar stated. She was about to continue, before Agnese silenced her with a wordless hiss.

"The boy's been through more than you'd be able to comprehend. For him to mistrust us isn't entirely unwarranted, now behave yourself. Understand the situation and deal with it accordingly."

"F-For a little girl, you really freak me right out."

Agnese eventually managed to return the embrace, allowing herself a moment to indulge in the moment of comfort in an otherwise uncomfortable world. Looking onward, with a bright, pink blush upon her facial features, Agnese Sanctis occasionally blinked as she gazed at the multitude of females who'd seemingly accompanied that boy all the way from Academy City, an ocean away.

Strangely, none of them seemed particularly vexed; she'd recalled the silver-haired nun, the List of Prohibited Books to be rather volatile. Had something changed? If so, then what? What was it that'd decided to change, or alternatively, what had been changed?

Agnese's embrace tightened and she found herself in a moment of vulnerability, eyelids closing. His own, the embrace offered by that boy was loving, tender, truly affectionate – quite like nothing she'd ever felt before. It was cold, oddly, yet there was an underlying, unfelt warmth to the act.

"Boy, it's good to see you, s'well. I will explain everything, but we must first bring ourselves to a safe location… Before we can do that, however, I'll have to ask you to let me go, first."

Agnese temporarily broke away, partly to point her index finger towards the simplistic hallway leading from the sparsely-decorated lobby and towards the nearby elevators. Those doors which would have parted, leading into an elevator car called to the lobby's ground floor by the press of a button were light silver in colouration, with slight scratches upon their surfaces. Worn by time, or perhaps by overuse.

"I cannot say I truly blame you for not trusting those who have assembled here – Saint Lessar hasn't truly proved herself to be absolutely loyal to our cause, until recently that is. Much has changed in a rather brief period, boy, and much more has been revealed to us."

With a nod of her head, Agnese Sanctis motioned towards the elevators' doors.

"It would be best for us to discuss matters related to what brought the lot of you here, in the first place."

"Lessar," Agnese then spoke, causing the Saint to look to former leader expectantly. "Make sure everyone's luggage makes its way to a place of safety."

"Actually…"

Both, former New Light operative and former leader alike looked to the owner of the voice which had interjected. Musujime Awaki stepped forward as if to physically ensure that she stuck out, to make herself known.

"All I need to see is this 'safe place' itself, and I can freely teleport everyone's luggage there. It'll save you a trip, or two, or three… Show me the room. Or rooms."

As if by magic itself, Awaki found that Lessar had taken to her side. Clinging to the Move Point user's arm, Saint Lessar peered up at her.

"If you want some alone time with me, all you have to do is ask. What's it going to take for me to get between those legs, huh? Name your price, esper, and I'm yours."

"Uh…"

"That wasn't a no! Do you like girls, too?! Cock looks nice, but pussies taste better, and they're nicer to lick. You got your v-card? I have mine. Want to trade?"

"SHEESH! I don't think this is an entirely appropriate topic of conversation!"

Quickly, Lessar hurried Musujime Awaki off, walking her like she was walking a dog. The Saint continued to babble, even as the two turned a corner towards the stairwell.

Agnese Sanctis looked on, seemingly disturbed. With a shake of her head and a click of either of her shoes' heels, her stoic courage was restored.

Then, she had to pull herself out of Kamijou Touma's embrace, an act which seemed to disappoint him greatly.

"Ahem… follow me, if you'd please. You, Jack, you come, as well."

"Would 'here be any othe' bloody course-a'-action?"

Oriana had taken point at the motel's entranceway doors. What she sought, if anything, was unknown to all save Oriana herself, as well as her fellow Necessarius cohorts.

"Boy," Agnese began, looking to Kamijou Touma who'd taken to striding beside her, "be careful with that hand of yours. You'd actually ought to…"

"Agnese-san, I don't have Imagine Breaker anymore. I've… Well, I've got something better."

Kumokawa Seria found herself smirking, a chill travelling down her spine. The way he spoke, the way he announced it, the way he simply worded his explanation… confidence. It beamed from him, like rays of synthetic light from a bulb.

On the other end of the proverbial 'reaction spectrum', the former Leader of the Agnese Forces looked to the Imagine Breaker's once-Bearer, a facial expression of absolute, utter shock etched upon her face. Even as the group moved into the interior of the church itself, bathed in dull, barely-noticeable candlelight.

"H… huh? Y-you don't? The power in your right hand… it vanished? How? Why? What became of it, boy?"

Touma simply shook his head, no; apparently, that was the end of that.

To very few individuals' surprise, the interior of the motel wasn't all that interesting, even when compared to its milquetoast exterior. The inner walls had their many wooden, reinforced beams exposed with chunks of insulation visible, puffing out like drool dripping from the maw of an overheated dog trapped outside on a warm summer's afternoon. The flooring was damaged and scuffed, though passable in its overall usability; it fared better than the motel's inner walling.

The ceilings fared no better; perhaps they fared even worse. Curving upwards to form a singular point, they too seemed to be perpetually rotting. As well, more tufts of insulation were visible hanging from within. Placed about, there were many ornate pews, most of which were riddled with webs woven by arachnids and a dingy, dusty ancient-looking oaken altar which sat at the frontal apex of the motel's interior, a great, oaken crucifix propped up behind it, where a welcome desk normally would have been. A makeshift church within what seemed to be an abandoned motel.

Only the Amakusa could have come up with something like this. Kamijou Touma chortled at the setting surrounding him.

"What are these?"

Index poked a rune, or a carving which must've been some kind of a rune. It was nearby the elevators' doors.

Having broken away from "Kamijou-san's party", the little nun with the silver hair had taken to poking at the walls to the "party's" left, though, these weren't the only surfaces which seemed to have been desecrated, with many oddly-shaped carvings produced upon them.

"I've never seen anything like this… I don't know… anything about these. I don't know anything about these! What are they?! This style… what is it? What is the nature?! Think, think!"

Gripping her temples, the little nun wracked her brain, searching for the answers.

The Necronomicon's pages spoke not of the nature of the carvings.

The Book of the Dead mentioned neglected to mention the nature of the carvings or the carvings themselves.

Antonio Antonio Antonio Antonio's "Oblitus Est Suos Deos Scripturam Veteris", the ten-thousand-page expository piece and closest text to a manual on the Forgotten Ones, alternatively known as the 'Old Gods', the residents of the outer, cosmic Void from a time before time, held no relevant secrets.

Two arms were cast around her shoulders. Icy, their embrace was tight, comforting, loving and adoring. Soft, cold lips kissed the back of her habit's headpiece.

"Index. Look, Index… we're right here, okay? I've gotcha. What's happening? Let me in on it. We're in this together, right?"

"Index-san? Can you hear me…? It's me. Kumokawa-san. I'm not certain as to what's troubling you, but Touma-kun and I won't leave your side until these negative effects subside, and you return to your normal self."

Looking back to those who'd taken to her side, Index offered the both a smile.

"I'm not in any pain. Frustrated… my one hundred and three thousand volumes have information on almost every piece of magical history from around the entire globe… not being able to fall back on them for understanding isn't something I'm used to. It's actually pretty scary."

Regardless of her explanation, Kamijou Touma didn't let her go. The little nun with the silver hair didn't seem eager to be released from the embrace, either.

Then, the former Magic God spoke. Her voice was low in pitch, and distant; she, too, had apparently taken to investigating the carvings. To herself, she whispered words of bewilderment.

"The Ahnk'ji… they live, and they've come to the surface? I… I'm… at a loss… this would fill in many gaps. Wretched insects."

Agnese Sanctis pressed one of the elevator's buttons; a button with a small, glowing arrow upon its surfaces which pointed upwards. The light beaming out from beneath the button changed colouration, from red to green.

"Now, I really, _really_ want answers," Touma remarked.

Rising, he took his leave from the side of Index, who he'd helped to rise as well. Leaving her in the care of Kumokawa Seria who spoke to the little nun in a soft, almost motherly tone, he closed the distance between himself and the former leader of the Agnese Forces. On the way, Misaka Mikoto joined him, while Othinus silently continued her study of the carvings, crouched before a rightmost section of the motel's walls.

"You're the one who's supposed to know about all of this," Mikoto began, "if you don't, then… I don't think that bodes well. If a nun with magic books in her brain and the guy who punched an Archangel in the face doesn't know about it, I don't think anyone does."

"I'm as lost as you are," Touma acknowledged. "Trust me, it doesn't feel too good to be in the dark either. I was just getting used to understanding everything, having all this information fed to me constantly. Now, it's all come to a standstill, everything's quiet up there.

For a moment, Kamijou Touma pointed to his forehead. Misaka Mikoto understood what he was referring to.

Turning back, Agnese looked to the form of Spring-heeled Jack, who'd taken to resting atop the motel's exposed rafters. Crouched, he gazed down upon the proceedings below, from on high.

"I suppose it's time," Agnese stated, somewhat reluctantly. "J-just hurry up and show them, Morfanaax."

From the rafters, he leapt without uttering a word. Touching down on the wooden flooring, "Spring-heeled Jack" landed some mere inches from the pew in which Agnese Sanctis had taken to sitting, quite comfortably.

Eyeing the forms of Kamijou Touma and the girl whose name she didn't know, Agnese remained turned in place, a reluctant, and almost concerned expression painted across her features.

Then, blue flame began to consume him. The fire began to crackle without cause, but it started regardless, as if to spite this very required mechanic, as if to proverbially spit into its nonexistent face.

They silently roared, the flame's movements sporadic and nigh-unpredictable. With all due haste they began to lick at the clothing worn by "Spring-heeled Jack", embers jumped outwards, evaporating before they received the chance to begin life as full-fledged flames of their own.

Funneling downwards, the flame which consumed the form of "Spring-heeled Jack" travelled, growing exponentially in size as they moved, quite possibly feeding on the oxygenated air or quite possibly growing simply because they wished to, or perhaps because something wished for them to.

Subsequently, the entirety of "Spring-heeled Jack's" earthly form was consumed by the hungry-seeming, ever-growing flame. Snapping like the jaws of a rabid, starved beast, Kamijou Touma and Misaka Mikoto watched on. From the pocket of her Tokiwadai Middle School-issued skirt, she produced a singular arcade coin, gripping the trinket tightly between her index finger and her thumb.

Kumokawa Seria stared, mouth agape, heart pounding like the beat of a drum within her chest. Index's eyes glistened as she observed the fiery consuming of flesh and clothing, while the former Magic God, Othinus, who'd risen, eyelids widening.

Firstly, there were a great set of bat-like wings emerged from the crackling, blue inferno. Then, a set of mighty, gnarled horns which ended in twisted, thorny curls surfaced from the sea of flame.

Then, the remainder of Morfanaax the Redeemed's form emerged from the surging, twisting blaze, hooves clacking, his great, curved legs striding forward, taking noticeable caution to move as slowly as was possible. With the daemoniac existence's emergence, the flame suddenly stopped and flickered out of existence, leaving behind no sign of its presence. No ash remnants dotted the floors, and no smoke rose in their absence.

Enormous, broad shoulders. A flat face with two slits where nostrils should have been. Unnaturally long, dangling arms. Colossal, muscled, curved legs which terminated in thick hooves, each crackling with hungry-seeming blue flames. Heavily-plated, ornate armour adorned the daemoniac existence's form. The gargantuan, bat-like wings practically shot open, revealing vein-laden, thin membranes of pallid flesh.

Easily over twelve feet tall, the Daemoniac existence lacking any sort of negative aura looked upon "Kamijou-san's Party" bearing a seemingly mirthful smile.

"Many warm greetings to you," Morfanaax spoke; throughout the motel his bellowing voice did boom, even as he pronounced his words with the utmost softness. He bowed in an almost gentlemanly fashion, folding one arm across his waist, as he extended the other outwards.

"Forgive my deception. I am called Morfanaax. My Izul, my title as your people may better know it, is called "the Redeemed". Once-High Guardian of Dis, former servant of _Beliar_. I now serve the organization which your people might call the Sons of Taured in the hopes of forging your world into a better place for all life that lives upon it. This is my sole mission, my purpose for being. I hope we may coexist peacefully."

Kamijou Touma peered back to Kumokawa Seria, who'd seated herself in a pew. She leaned forward, seemingly perturbed. Within, her lungs expanded, and then, subsequently retracted; a deep breath. Pupils dilated, Seria looked down at her own feet.

Then, Touma took one step forward. Speaking, he addressed the daemoniac existence, Morfanaax.

"We still don't know what this "Sons of Taured" is. We don't even know why we're here. Hell, we're supposed to be killing you or something, right now. You're the bad guy, apparently. Or so we've been told, at least."

"I seek not to harm you. I will not harm you, no matter the harm you do upon me."

Kamijou Touma may very well have offered a retort; but he was quickly overtaken in the verbal exchange by a flailing Railgun.

" **I AM SO CONFUSED?! WHY ARE YOU A DEMON?! HOW ARE YOU A DEMON?! ARE YOU… A DEMON? I'M GOING TO FAINT**!"

Misaka Mikoto shook her head with force; tightly, she gripped either side. Electricity flowed freely from her body as she continued to incoherently babble, much more to herself than to anyone else.

" **STUPID MAGIC**!"

Index, on the other end of the proverbial 'reaction spectrum' seemed to have taken interest in the daemoniac existence.

She moved forward, nearly passing the form of Kamijou Touma, who quickly reeled her in with his available right arm. The other lacked a hand; it had been replaced with a sharpened blade of nanorobotic resin.

"T… T-The Flame of the Burning Bush?!"

"Yes, small sister. You see correctly. The aforementioned feats are of no honour to me – they are to be always remembered, but never treasured. I mean your kind no harm, and I come to you with the desire to engage in peaceful negotiations, in the name of God's Holy Light."

Othinus approached, and the Demoniac existence took notice. Tilting his head to one side, he looked downward, and then fell to one knee as she approached.

Though this act initially caused confusion for some, the significance behind, and the nature of the act quickly became apparent; their fields of vision levelled, and became equal.

"One-Eyed Odin… I must wonder, did you ever suspect my true nature?"

"Of course. There was never a question about it. Yet, ironically, as I once stood above you, you now stand above me. I am a god no longer. Mortal, god, and mortal once more. Now, I find myself woefully powerless… Laugh as you will."

"I would not mock you, Odin."

"No? Consider this, it would severely strain this body to successfully refine the mana required to cast a mere illumination spell."

"I will not question the circumstances of this fall from grace. I hope you and I can find peace and solidarity."

"Once more, I hardly have a choice. You could very well kill me with a single bash of your wing."

"I would never do so. I will never harm another, never again. Once-Majin Odin. Fate can be ironic."

Morfanaax the Redeemed rose; he and the former Magic God exchanged no more words.

"Ahem…"

All eyes turned to the form of Agnese Sanctis. Though she'd stepped into the elevator, which had arrived some few moments after Morfanaax and Othinus began to speak, she'd turned herself in place and crossed one leg over the other, leaning against the elevator car's adjacent wall, a smooth surface. Facing those she'd addressed, her cheeks became oddly flushed and subsequently, she looked down to floor beneath her feet.

"I'd prefer to wait for the other member of your group to return, as I'd much prefer to not have the same discussion twice. This was… I'm not very good at speaking to large groups, not outside of… b-battle, you see… actually, the decision isn't mine to m-make, s-see. The Priestess w-wishes for efficiency…"

Seemingly, she steeled herself. Even as her lips curled downwards into a pout, Agnese Sanctis' eyebrows arched aggressively, and she rose, standing upon the seat of the pew.

"Once we've disembarked from the elevator, feel free to, um, walk about as you please. Try not to leave Hawkhaven, because searching for people who've gone off to do their own thing throughout Bristol isn't something we're trying to deal with."

"Hawkhaven?" Touma rhetorically inquired. "Is that what this dump is called? Place looks like the shits."

"An Amakusa front and part-time base of operations, when such a thing is required," Agnese elaborated, quite confident in response, a nod of her head apparently further confirming this, at least in her own mind. "Hawkhaven was never a functioning motel, boy."

Turning her attention to the ex-freelancer who'd departed from the entranceway of the motel, Hawkhaven, Agnese pointed her Lotus Wand in Oriana's direction.

"Thomson, could you check up on Saint Lessar and the esper from Academy City? They're taking an awfully long time to perform a simple task. Knowing her, trouble brews. I'd deal with our 'Saint' myself, if I weren't preoccupied."

With a wordless shrug and a sigh of irritation, Oriana decided on taking the stairs; she disappeared into the darkened stairwell, down another winding hallway opposite to that which the elevators' doors were found in.

Next, Agnese directed her attention to the form of Morfanaax. He'd returned to the rafters, where he'd barely managed to fit himself, given his true form's incredible height. Wings folded, his hooves seemed like they would crush the wooden beams beneath them at any moment; despite this, they held fast against the Daemoniac existence's monumental weight.

"You, you're on watch duty. Keep to the skies, but don't stray too high. Hawkhaven doesn't need any more urban explorers poking around."

"My duties are understood, Miss Sanctis."

Unlikely grace was about him even as he leapt from the rafters, and saw himself beyond the motel's interior, ducking beneath the doorway which lead out.

Some time passed following the Daemoniac existence's departure, and matters seemed to slowly return to a sense of normalcy. Kumokawa Seria remained solely in the company of the once-Magic God Othinus, and had repeatedly, but politely turned down offers, both from Touma and others to have company. Aside from answering inquiries posed to her, Kamijou Touma's senpai remained silent, even as the elevator the group stood within rose, commandeered to the motel's highest floor.

Within the confines of her higher mind, she struggled to comprehend the sights she'd witnessed. The nature, the possibilities, it was endless. She could speculate forever more, and she would likely never come upon the truth, at least not on her own.

The "Magic Side" was a terrifying thing indeed. Seria shuddered; like a film projected onto a silver screen her mind's eye played the scene over, and over and _over_ again. The demon, or whatever it was, the horned, winged monstrosity. Repeatedly, as if it was a movie clip played on an unending loop broadcast to her mind's eye, the monstrosity emerged from the snapping blue flames, something straight out of a nightmare.

Quite literally, Kumokawa Seria knew nothing but the world in which she dwelled. She knew nothing of the kinds that inhabited it; if something such as "Morfanaax the Redeemed" existed, what else existed? What other horrors waited just beyond the veil?

Seria's quiet contemplation continued, even as she looked to the elevator car's drop ceiling instead of down at her own feet.

The elevator's doors split open on the motel's highest floor. Urged on by Agnese Sanctis, "Kamijou Touma's Party" disembarked, walking into a poorly-lit, seemingly rotting corridor. Rows upon rows of thick, reinforced doors lead into individual rooms. The carpet beneath the feet of all who tread upon it was oddly squishy, like some sort of thick, spongy vegetation lurked just beneath.

"Touma, Touma."

"Uh huh. What's up, Index, sweetheart?"

"There's something different."

She looked up at her 'keeper', whose available hand remained transformed and weaponized. Wrapping her own arms around his own, the little nun tilted her head to one side, curiously.

Despite his own frustrations, despite the fact that he wanted a full, immediate explanation for the utterly anomalous and completely, borderline nonsensical happenings that were unfolding around him, Kamijou Touma managed a smile.

Zeeee, nunununuuu.

His hand shifted, turning from a long, sharpened blade of machine-phase matter and to a proper five-fingered hand, matching the coloration of his 'skin'.

"Daemonic beings have a sort of aura, Touma, short-hair, braid-girl," Index began, sitting up, as she ironically enough pointed her index finger towards the motel corridor's sloped ceiling. There seemed to be _four_ corridors, in fact, each connecting with one another to form a square-shaped nexus surrounding the elevator's doors on this highest floor.

"It lingers around them, just like the mana that a magic user produces… speaking of which, Tou-ma, I can sense some mana on you which is odd. But! A Daemonic being's aura is different from a magic user's mana physically manifesting itself."

"She makes a good point, boy," Agnese remarked. "You _are_ producing mana… that is strange. I can only presume it has correlation with the absence of your right hand's power?"

"I've never appreciated one of your lectures this much before, Index," Touma stated with a firmness unsuitable for a boy who found himself with a nun clinging to his arm. Additionally, he'd mindfully dodged the inquiry posed by the former battle-nun; at least for the time being, such an explanation would have to wait.

"Go on, tell me more. Tell _us_ , I'm sure Mikoto is just as eager as I am to figure out just what in the ever-loving _fuck_ is happening."

"I am," Mikoto clarified. "I'd really appreciate it if you could tell us even a little bit more."

Index nodded, quite enthusiastically in fact. Slowly but surely, as he watched the little nun's body language, positivity returned to Kamijou Touma.

Throwing his arms around the girl who'd memorized over one hundred thousand foul Grimoires, he pulled her close, an act which at first caused her to produce a soft gasp.

In chaos, a moment of normality arose, even as the "List of Prohibited Books" explained a matter that was absolutely, completely abnormal.

"There's a key difference between a demon and a daemoniac being," Index stated, quite firmly.

"Demon, a word transcribed from the Koine Greek word "daimonian", is almost always used to refer to a Fallen Angel, which lack the self-awareness of daemoniac beings. Fallen Angels don't produce unique auras different than those produced by Angels; we know the power that Angels are both powered by and passively produce "Telesma"! A daemoniac being's aura is different, and the mana they produce is entirely separate from Telesma, in concept and origin.

"Where do they come from, if they're not Fallen Angels, which… those come from Heaven, right?" Mikoto inquired, vision still perpetually spinning. "I can't believe I just asked something like that, even after everything we've seen… Angels, Heaven…"

" _I have to wonder… if there's a Heaven, do espers go there?"_

"Daemoniac beings don't have a firmly-placed origin point, whereas Fallen Angels do, being Angels that have Fallen from God's Light," Index elaborated. "Most Daemoniac beings are incredibly evil, almost exclusively evil, but as with all overwhelming statistics there are exceptions! Touma, short-hair, the strange thing about this Morfanaax character, he didn't produce the sort of aura a _proper_ daemoniac being would produce, or what modern magicians think they produce. It was closer in the way it felt to Telesma, but not quite the same… key differences. One-Eye can probably vouch for me, so can braids-girl."

Index soon found herself returning the hug, her eyes closing as she rested her chin upon her 'keeper's' shoulder.

"Get it?" the little nun inquired.

"It's something, at least," Touma responded. "Thanks for the info dump, Index."

Mikoto, on the other hand didn't seem to have recovered from her state of bewildered confusion. She stretched aggressively, taking Touma's other, free arm to comfort her throbbing brain and aching higher mind.

"I think I understand even less."

Then, there was a poke, delivered by a single finger. It landed upon Touma's neck, and tapped him, once, twice, and then a third time.

"Um…"

"Agnese-san? Something wrong? Seems everyone's on edge right now… kind of been that way for the last while. I'm all ears."

"M-Might… I join you?"

Index pouted, and shook her head, repeatedly. Looking from her 'keeper', and then to the former Leader of the Agnese Forces, she tightened her hold on Touma's shoulders.

"I want to hug Touma right now. Hug him later, braids-girl. You don't see short-hair trying to… hey!"

Misaka Mikoto produced a soft, vaguely hysterical chuckle. She'd wrapped either of her arms around Touma's own right arm, and had cuddled close to him, her eyelids closed shut.

"I think I'm going insane. I've seen mummies that throw buildings around, dragons coming out of peoples' arms, angels blowing up entire sections of cities… but seeing a dude in a raincoat turn into a giant demon by burning himself alive? Too… too much. I think that's where I draw the line… I need a fucking _rest_ , already."

"… Are you okay, short-hair?"

"Stop calling me that. I-I'm fine, t-thanks for asking. I just need to get my head straight… holding this Idi- guy, who sometimes acts in a somewhat idiotic manner is helping. Immensely."

"Then that's OK, short-hair. We can share!"

"Index," Touma gently spoke, "could you continue where you left off with your explanation?"

"Well..."

"I d-didn't seek to cause you any troubles, boy," Agnese blurted out, interrupting Index. "It's merely a matter of… I'm only a substitute commander. I wouldn't mind abandoning my duties for a short while."

With a mirthful smirk, Kamijou Touma extended **another** available arm, one formed from machine phase-matter which came to protrude from his hip, while Index's eyelids repeatedly blinked, as if she was in shock. To the former Leader of the Agnese Forces he spoke.

She seemed startled. Agnese took several steps back, her mind reeling. What was _this_?

"I think you're doing a great job, Agnese-san. You're taking care of this like a pro. I mean, you told that… demon-thing what to do, no fear in sight. None that I could see. Honestly? If I didn't trust you, if you weren't here, I probably would've tried to kill it. Never did trust those New Light girls… Lessar's alright, but, she's easily swayed, you know?"

To this, Agnese nodded before she offered her own response, strangely enough, in fluent English.

"T-t…. t-thank you, boy. Priestess Kaori Kanzaki is supposed to be handling this operation with myself as her Second. H-however, her dealings with the D-Dawn-Colored Sunlight have… k-kept her occupied longer than we originally intended. I-I'm just following her orders… I'm only able to do this because of my own history with leadership roles, o-otherwise I'd be completely sunk, you see… I've e-even memorized a script, containing the information y-your group needs to know."

The former Roman Orthodox battle-nun seemed to become emboldened, suddenly. Agnese didn't cling to the part of Kamijou Touma's body that he'd extended. Instead, she struggled to remain on her own, proverbially standing tall.

"Effectively, the Amakusa-Style Remix of Church is on the border of outright war with the religious establishment, but we're not the only ones. The Russian Orthodox Church, and, by extension, Annihilatus considers the current aggressive and xenophobic actions taken by the Roman Orthodox Church, and the inaction of the Church of England to be highly provocative."

"But, hold up. You're allied with Necessarius," Touma insisted, to which Agnese responded by shaking her head, no.

"Not anymore… It's…"

Agnese allowed herself to slump back into her seat in the pew, either of the enormous soles of her shoes clacking against the wooden flooring.

"It's hard to explain! The Priestess gets it all better than I do, she's the one who's been talking to them! The Taured guys and the… the bug-people!"

There was a sudden shout, a cry of absolute exasperation, one which caused both Kamijou Touma and Index to peer in Misaka Mikoto's direction.

" **BUG-PEOPLE**?! Did you just say… **bug-people**?! Y-you… you know what?"

For a moment, Mikoto cackled, like a witch straight out of some classic horror film.

"I'm not even surprised. Bug-people. Okay, bug-people exist, too. What else exists? Unicorns? Dragons? Fairies? People with dog heads instead of human heads, walking around talking about bones? Is King Arthur going to pop out from nowhere and shout, "SURPRISE!"? I knew magic was crazy, I really thought I did, at least…"

She rose, and threw her hands up, as if she was to announce her defeat at the hand of some otherwise invisible enemy.

"I'm gonna take a walk around, in circles I guess. Just holler if you need me."

Agnese Sanctis nodded, while Touma responded by gently taking her right hand into his own. For a moment, and for only a moment she looked on, before he placed a soft kiss to the top of the extremity.

"You want to talk about something, Mikoto? Don't hesitate. I'm not the only one here who has your back, don't forget. You're far from alone."

"T-Thanks."

With her acknowledgement of gratitude, the Railgun girl began to jog, rather than walk as she left Kamijou behind. Though a mere light jog, the exertion seemed slightly more taxing than a simply, casual walk.

Then, there was a tug on his shirt of nanorobotic resin. As a normal shirt would've, the false article of clothing shifted in place, as Agnese Sanctis tugged on it, like a little girl attempting to garner the attention of a guardian figure.

"Boy, I-I'm… G-Giving you the task of retrieving Saint Lessar. S-she has already taken far too long to return to our m-meeting point, and Oriana Thomson has yet to return, as well... Go, n-now! If you… Want to."

"I'm coming with, Tou-ma," Index stated, with a considerable firmness in her tone of voice. Her eyelids narrowed as she lowered herself, staring into the eyes of her 'keeper'.

In response, her 'keeper' smirked, looking deep into his 'charge's' enormous, azure irises. The longer he looked, the more she seemed to slowly push herself away, a pink tinge forming upon her cheeks.

"I'm not about to turn you away, beautiful Index. C'mon, let's head 'em on out, and see what we can see."

Index stumbled, steadying herself before releasing her guardian's arm from her own arms. With all due haste, the little nun with the silver hair scooped her 'keeper's' left hand into her own right, and attempted to drag him forward; he didn't budge, not immediately, for Agnese Sanctis spoke once more.

"Boy," she began, "Saint Lessar was originally assigned the _fourth_ suite on the _third_ floor. I recommend beginning your search there. D-Do make haste, I w-would much prefer to formally have this o-operation underway, before long. Saint Lessar did remark that the Necessarius-affiliated spy, one 'Tsuchimikado', can be… a nuisance."

Touma chuckled, a vocalization dry and without humour, as he allowed himself to be pulled along by the girl who'd memorized over one hundred thousand Grimoires.

"That's one way of putting it, Agnese-san…"

He turned back momentarily before he neared Kumokawa Seria and the former Magic God, Othinus, exchanging hushed words among each other.

"Agnese-san, I trust you more than I trust that bastard."

Though he turned away, Kamijou Touma was not quite prepared to leave. He made this evident as he increased his body's density on a whim, effectively becoming far too heavy for the perpetually-hungry nun to drag along behind her, like so much baggage.

"Tou-ma. Why did you stop?"

"Be patient, Index. Hang tight for a second."

She folded her arms across her chest and grumbled to herself, while the subject of her soft-spoken, incoherent ramblings approached his senpai, and the girl beyond numerable years who slowly, but surely was beginning to Understand him once more.

Next to the former he stood, then, barring their path. Placing his arm around her shoulder and pulling her inward, Kamijou Touma looked to Kumokawa Seria, locking eyes with the beautiful, refined woman.

Soon, despite the fact that he hadn't expected her to, Index joined him. She stood herself next to her 'keeper' and main source of foodstuffs stubbornly, her hands clasped and folded at her crotch.

"You've been oddly quiet," he stated. "I bet your mind's all over the place right now. I don't blame you, I felt the exact same way when I first met Index. When you're involved with magic, you see some… crazy shit, senp… I mean, Seria."

"As a matter of a fact," Seria began, in response to her kohai's ever-thoughtful checkup, "Othinus-san… _Ah_! I mean, Olivia-chan and I were discussing the matter before you decided to join us. I must admit, when I first laid eyes upon that creature, my very sanity may have fractured."

Despite her words, Kumokawa Seria smiled, and pecked her kohai on the lips, her hands finding their way to the boy's chest.

"I've never seen any sort of being quite like that. It certainly trumps any Wyverns. Academy City has yet to produce such a thing, and I truly hope they never do… Olivia-chan has been assisting me in wrangling my scattered, far-roaming thoughts with her seemingly endless knowledge."

"It's nothing," the former Magic God retorted. "I certainly hold no concrete answers regarding the daemoniac, I can only offer sound theories. I can't hold true knowledge, nor could I even do so when I possessed great power; it is, quite literally, impossible for me, or you, or for the nun to understand such a concept. It is beyond the limited capabilities of our collective consciousnesses."

Seria shook her head, no.

"You sell yourself short. Our conversation alone helped to ease what must have been my own instinctual panic, Olivia-chan."

While Othinus chose not to respond, Kamijou Touma couldn't help but feel his own grin grow exponentially in size, despite or perhaps because of the situation in which he found himself.

Those two were getting closer, his senpai and the girl he Understood so very well. They'd spoken for most of the trip, in fact. They accepted one another, for whatever reasons they had within their minds and hearts for doing so.

"Seria," Touma spoke, initiating a new branch of conversational exchange, "Index and me, we're heading to this shithole motel's third floor to see what Lessar and Musujime are up to. Just… thought I'd check up on you, see how you're doing. I know you can take care of yourself, but…"

Kumokawa Seria pecked him on the lips once more. Sighing as she did so, as her own tongue began to attack Kamijou Touma's.

Swiftly, she regained her composure, then softly cleared her throat as she broke the embrace.

"It's the thought that counts, my sweet little kohai. You're positively precious. I'm sure all I'll need is a good night's rest, and I should be back to my usual self. Truthfully, now that panic has subsided, I ought to admit to myself that in my involvement with "the Other Side", getting used to sights such as these should be a priority. Our world is quite obviously very different from the world Academy City presents to its residents."

"Seria. You sure you're okay?"

"I wouldn't lie to you. As always, I'll be right here waiting for you to return, Touma-kun."

Receiving a final soft, affectionate kiss from his senpai, Kamijou Touma took Index's hand into his own and departed with finality, the little silver-haired nun following closely behind him.

Both parties moved towards the elevator doors leading out from the motel's highest floor and passed by a perpetually-jogging Misaka Mikoto, who'd barely worked up a sweat, her fourth lap complete, a fifth beginning there and then. The Railgun waved in the duo's direction, and to Touma's further surprise both he and the girl who'd memorized over one hundred thousand Grimoires waved back.

"Touma, Touma."

"Index, Index."

Some mere few feet before the elevators' doors, the little nun forcibly pushed herself in front of her 'keeper', effectively blocking his path, at least in her own mind.

"Close your eyes, Tou-ma."

"Alright…"

He did just that. His eyelids slid shut, and he quietly waited for something to occur.

Then, something _did_ occur.

A set of lips connected with his own. Soft, quivering and almost reluctant, they found their way, as did a set of arms, which were thrown around him.

His eyes opened, for a moment. The set of arms departed, releasing him from their hold.

Index had parted, either of her cheeks a bright shade of red. Despite this, even though there were tears visible in the corners of her eyes, she smiled, widely and genuinely.

"Tou-ma, I wanted to kiss you, too!"

"All you had to do was ask, y'know. You're so beautiful. I love you, Index."

"I l-love you too, Touma!"

With that, hand in hand, 'keeper' and 'charge' awaited the arrival of an elevator car, one which would, with any luck, deliver them to the motel's third floor, where 'Saint' Lessar and Musujime Awaki supposedly awaited them.

Until Saint Kanzaki Kaori would arrive, this was a welcome distraction.


	36. Roman Orthodox Traditionalist Crusade

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Author's Note: In a potentially controversial move, I'm writing 'A Certain Broken Testament' with the intent of ignoring all events occurring in Kamachi's prime canon, post-NT17. This includes several important plot points relating to the character of Laura Stuart and her connection to Aleister Crowley. This is partially due to the fact that this piece was being written prior to these revelations in the light novels; I'll be continuing as if those revelations had never occurred at all.

England.  
February 10 th , 2004. 8:01 PM.

A connection had been established, one of technology and not of magical means. From science and to magic, the connection was based within the realm of the former.

From his 'perch' in his towering Windowless Building, Aleister Crowley, General Superintendent of Academy City reached out to Archbishop Laura Stuart, head of the 0th Parish of the Church of England, that which was known as 'Necessarius'.

She hardly looked like a leader; in fact, she looked more like a preppy schoolgirl engaging in simple, casual conversation with a friend, perhaps about the events that'd occurred that day in some educational setting.

Seated upon her bed, Laura Stuart gazed downward and away from her computing system's attached, external camera; she was no fool when it came to modern technology. Built-in cameras simply weren't the way to go, not unless one was looking to be spied upon by curious, tech-savvy NEETs.

Carefully, the Archbishop of the Church of England applied a coat of bright blue paint to her third toe's nail, gently, cautiously running her polish-plastered brush over the soft, small protrusion, leaving only two others to apply polish to, at least on the toes of her right foot.

"Aleister-chan~! What a… Lovely… Surprise."

"Or so you say. I would inquire as to why my previous attempts at 'community outreach' failed. Yet I know you better than that. Perhaps better than you even know yourself. You're nothing if not predictable."

Laura pouted, producing a soft, aggravated " _humph_ ". With a shake of her head, golden locks were tossed about, fluttering in the oxygenated air before each fell.

"I hope you haven't called just to insult me, Aleister-chan. Is this your way of trying to tell me that you're in loooooooooove~ with me? Are you one of those… what's the word? "Male tsunderes"? I'll have you know, that is quite the old and tired archetype~."

"Observe."

"I'm painting my toes. Give me a moment, will you? Pushy, pushy~!"

Despite (or alternatively, perhaps because of) her words, the feed displaying Aleister Crowley's upside-down and utterly stoic facial expression quickly blinked out of existence, soon replaced by what, from the angle of the new feed must've been footage captured by a monitoring system of some sort, whatever sort of newfangled observation tech Crowley had implemented into his little fort.

Whatever the means, Laura Stuart paid no further consideration to the matter of Academy City's technological developments.

" _That's an issue of politics, human or otherwise; I don't politick. Such matters are dull even by your standards, for those who prefer to distance themselves from carnage and send the young in to die in their place. Politicking is for the cowardly, those who are unable to smile on the battlefield."_

" _I take all matters seriously, all matters excepting you, boy. You're little more than a snivelling, begging little child, wailing in a failing attempt to retrieve his stolen source of amusement. You're a being of great importance within your own mind."_

" _If I learn that you're lying to me, I will make it so that your screams echo throughout the cosmos. That Egyptian spectre you're so fond of will not save you. Nothing will save you. My supremacy is undeniable; I am a GOD. If I learn that you're lying to me, I will squeeze the life from the both of you, and drink your liquefied innards like the finest of wines."_

Onward, Laura Stuart watched with curiosity blooming within her higher mind's ever-expanding landscapes.

Put bluntly, she'd never seen anything quite like it before.

"My, my, Aleister-chan. You certainly do have some strange friends… Why would you clue me into your new friendship? I must ask… Surely there isn't something you want from me? Surely, you of all people aren't **AFRAID** ~?"

"An enraged cosmic deity turning his sights upon our Earth would do very little to further your own pursuits," Aleister Crowley pointed out. "In fact, I find myself rather flabbergasted that you seem to be unaware as to the significance of this visitation."

As ever, his voice was the proverbial picture of utter calmness. Any tone present was utterly flat. His facial expression betrayed no sense of aggravation, nor did his body's gestures. Then again, there weren't many gestures an upside-down, white-haired goldfish could make.

Laura Stuart giggled at the thought, index and middle fingers of her right hand finding their way to her lips.

"Ah, ah~! Is that so? Do enlighten me, Aleister-chan, ye old master of Science~! Surely, you of all people know everything there is to know about gods~!"

In response, Aleister Crowley spoke a series of words, produced a series of vocalizations that, if uttered by another, would have resulted in a simple shake of the head, and a simple, dismissing giggle.

Spoken by him, they sent a shiver down the spine, throughout the entire earthly form of the Church of England's Archbishop.

"Simply put, Abraxas of Triton is among the most powerful beings in this reality. Stars collapse before him, entire universes are decimated in the time it would take you or I to bat an eye. Before him, the likes of our own host of Majin are mere idiot children, insects, waiting to be crushed beneath him; but don't look so frightened. I yet have a means to negotiate, and dare I say, a means to make his… Inevitable… Arrival on our own world more manageable, shall we say."

Laura Stuart certainly wished to hear more about that. If only one thing was entirely positive, completely and utterly knowable, it was the overarching fact that there were very few matters – and even fewer beings – that could perturb the likes of Aleister Crowley.

He, Aleister Crowley, who'd abandoned Magic in pursuit of Science, and more privately in pursuit of something beyond both realms, was a fool. But in his own right he was wise. A wise, almighty idiot, the pinnacle of goodness and the lowest of evils, the splitting image of youth and a man who'd seen centuries pass him by. He was duology, the concept and the definition.

"And, what then do you propose, Aleister-chan? Evidently it is hardly an undertaking you can see to on your own, or you wouldn't have called for me~! Or, maybe, are you falling for me and just wished to speak with me, Aleister-chan~? Hehehe~!"

The façade had barely survived. It'd nearly cracked, fallen and found itself lost forever in a sea of other broken and discarded things, floating at the feet of Laura Stuart's consciousness.

Fabricating some well-crafted – and by his own admission – insidious half-truth just wasn't an option. The time for planning had long since passed; the time had long since been lost in tending to other issues. Aleister Crowley would need to, somehow, in some way, manipulate through honesty.

Calmly, Aleister Crowley would provide Laura Stuart with his apparent "grand solution".

"The all-powerful Typhon was said to have been cast down to Tartarus, his power greatly limited through the might of Zeus, King of the Greek Gods, aided by his kin... An unorthodox mode of spellcasting in a world dominated by Abrahamic Faiths, yet it would very well set to the task. My espers can wield no magic… But you… You command many who loyally obey your every whim, from one end of this globe of ours, and to the other."

"A safety net? Is that it, then? My, my, Aleister-chan, how crude of you~. I ought to inquire before I decide to decide, if it's a decision, a conclusion you seek. What would be in this for _me,_ hm? What would _I_ gain through helping you, Aleister-chan? Hm? As far as I'm aware, you'd like us all erased from the face of the Earth. Chiu, chiu, chiu~. Scribble, bye-bye~."

"What would you gain? The answer is simple enough, is it not? Or, have your senses dulled in your old age? You gain the possibility of living, should the Tritonian decide to suddenly wisen up and make a target of our world."

"He doesn't sound very nice~."

"The Tritonian seeks the object of his misguided affections. Therefore, it is unlikely that he would outright unmake this world; yet, as always as the birds sing aloud, caution should be taken… Additionally, there are other matters to consider, but those are for myself to know, and for you to guess. If you're fond of living, you'll decide."

The fact of the matter was simple, for Laura Stuart. She'd already decided, in fact.

Crowley never _had_ been a very good actor.

A ruse of this nature, one devised by him, one admitted openly, delivered via direct contact from one superpower to another simply wouldn't make sense, not from a tactical standpoint. If anything, it was an act of resignation, a realization of utter defeat birthed in a situation that would be without hope, unless 'outsiders' intervened and threw their lot in.

It blatantly was a bluff.

At the very least, there was one sure-fire way to tell whether a bluff it was, or not.

"I must make one last query of you, Aleister-chan. When would you wish for this… unorthodox, unchristian spell to be cast, hm~? I wouldn't believe the fate of the world to be capable of hanging in the balance for some few weeks, or, further, some few months, after all~."

"You speak almost accusingly," Academy City's General Superintendent quipped, in response. "When I would give the word, of course. Constant, passive spellcasting would be nigh impossible, not without a legion of immortals. One of us or both of us may take the role of Zeus in this spellcasting. Despite my state of being, I find myself quite capable of producing the necessary materials."

"It would seem your own scheme is backfiring~! Cursing your espers wasn't so wise, now was it, eager little beaver~?"

So, her instincts _were_ dulling.

The 'double-check' routine was worth the effort; he was bluffing. Obviously, this 'cosmic god' of Crowley's was little more than a conjured vision, but to what end? It was a mere scare tactic, a means of instilling paranoia.

For a man who planned so meticulously, stacking schemes atop schemes, he'd been caught right in the middle of one. It'd all been a slew of lies, right down to the fact that Crowley claimed his toys to be incapable of spellcasting.

Was he really going to play ignorant when it came to the Sons' breaching of his City's walls? Laura Stuart could only chuckle to herself, he truly was desperate.

Laura Stuart almost found herself somewhere between a grin and a pout.

On one end, watching the man-child, angel-devil squirm was most amusing. Yet, he'd taken her for an idiot, and he'd sought to play her like so many strings on a musical instrument. It was an insult, and yet it was so poorly-planned that, regardless of the fact that it was a slap to the face, it was almost hysterically idiotic.

"Your attempts at stringing me along have failed, Aleister-chan. Did you truly think me so easily duped? Did you truly think me so easily manipulated~? No, no, little Aleister-chan. You'll have to gnaw on the foundations of some other enemy~. Good-bye."

He didn't respond, not verbally. Most was quiet, on the other end of the communication line, save for the identifiable sounds of soft, humming tech, and of shifting, glopping fluid.

Then, the line of communication was cut.

Aleister Crowley was running out of options.

* * *

February 10 th , 2004. 8:01 PM.

At first, Tsuchimikado Motoharu was surprised that he had any sort of cellular surface at all; but, internally, he was quickly reminded by his own higher mind that Academy City's satellites were abounds, and, without a doubt, the reception they offered could likely be taken advantage of even in the deepest, darkest woodlands.

It made sense, then, that the Backstabbing Blade had managed to not only establish, but successfully maintain contact with Gladio-Oculus Operative David Horton. Having taken advantage of the Accelerator's fully-charged cellphone, Motoharu had initiated a voice-only call.

"You've been trying for how long, now?"

"Hours. I think we've been had. I'm almost entirely certain that Kami-yan had something to do with this, and I'm not going to rest until we get to the bottom of it."

"And—"

"I've got my orders. GROUP's already been split up by that motherfucker, we've lost Musujime. Now it's just myself, A, E and A's main squeeze... Wherever she went off to."

Tsuchimikado Motoharu began to absent-mindedly mull about the jet's cockpit, as David Horton fell silent.

Against the walling nearest the door which lead into the jet's central level, Etzali stood close to the Backstabbing Blade, arms folded across his chest. Looking down to his feet, he blinked only occasionally.

"Are you there? Or did you fall asleep? Take your goddamn medication, you ancient bag of bones."

"Keep talking, Tsuchimikado…"

"Hey, you're alive! Thought Hamasaki was gonna have to bury you. I could just do the job myself. Not burying you. I mean… I can have A comb the area for Kami-yan and his group, drag 'em back here if need be. A seems to have gone off the radar, which is fine. He's probably keeping a low profile. The issue of the pamphlets isn't going to solve itself, either, but that can be taken care of. Just got to have the right links. Hearing reports that the Traditionalist Crusade is about in the United Kingdom… which doesn't make a lot of sense, but, what _does_ make sense nowadays?"

On the other end of the call, David Horton produced a sigh. The Gladio-Oculus' lips could be heard sucking about on something. Then, another vocalization could be heard; a long, deep exhalation.

There he was, a fifty-something-year-old bag of shit, smoking cancer sticks like they were candy. Then again, Tsuchimikado Motoharu silently reminded himself that no one had ever said the Operative was smart, by any means. Effective at carrying out his duties, but not necessarily smart.

"Keep the heat off Gladio, and off the Oculus. Keep the heat off _us_. Do that, and I couldn't give a shit less if you have the Accelerator tear the entirety of the United Kingdom apart…"

"I think he'd like that a little bit too much," Motoharu remarked, barely able to withhold his own snickering.

"Before you go," Horton stated, his words practically falling out of his mouth as he spoke quickly, almost frantically, "Gladio Operative Hamasaki Tsubasa has received something in the way of answers as well. Even managed to get some locations of interest for us, so, you might want to look into that, if time permits."

Conveniently enough, Horton didn't speak of Hamasaki Tsubasa's apparent betrayal.

"Names," Motoharu snapped, heart slamming inside of him at a suddenly increased rate. Leaning forward, the Backstabbing Blade came to a halt, as his movements garnered the attention of the Aztec magician, nearby.

"Give me names, Horton."

"Island of Leso, Greece. Saint Petersburg, Russia. Academy City, Japan. Osaka, Japan. Tokyo, Japan. Antarctica, no other details specified. Principality of Andorra," Horton rattled off, like the barrel of a machine gun ejecting so many piercing rounds.

"Could be bases of operation for these… Taured folks. Alternatively, it could be a complete ruse designed to fuck with us, spread our forces across the globe, weaken us. 'This side of the globe, we're considering the Academy City issue. I'll keep you updated whenever updates decide to arrive, Tsuchimikado."

"A plan indeed, even if it's half-assed and barely functional," the Backstabbing Blade acknowledged. With that, he terminated his connection to the voice call, and locked the phone, handing the device off to its owner, who retrieved it with a grunt of acknowledgement.

"About Kamijou-san..."

"He's no hero, E, not the person you remember making that 'promise' you're always babbling on about," Motoharu mumbled. "He's a killer, a sick fucking puppy."

"And we're not killers? Don't act so righteous."

For a moment, Tsuchimikado Motoharu and the Etzali locked eyes. The former's pacing came to a total halt. He seemingly seized up, mid-stride, like a great hairy cryptid captured in a cameraman's lens.

Then, he chuckled. Stuffing either of his hands into the pockets of his suit's pants, Tsuchimikado Motoharu chuckled, shaking his head, as if he was observing the antics of a foolish, wayward child.

"You don't get it, do you? You really don't know what happened to Kami-yan, do you?"

"No," Etzali acknowledged, "I don't know. All I _do_ know is that he supposedly went missing, everyone lost their minds. He comes back, everything's fine. That's the extent of my knowledge. I don't have _time_ to go poking around in other peoples' business. Unlike you."

"I have my own business to care of, Tsuchimikado. I only agreed to reform GROUP because I was threatened into doing so. Do you think I care about any of this? Do you think Accelerator cares? Or Musujime, for that matter? I'm here for the pay. What do _you_ do, aside from spying on matters you aren't involved in?"

The eyes of both Tsuchimikado Motoharu, the Backstabbing Blade and Etzali, the Aztec magician locked for a few moments more, before the latter seemed to relent.

"If I might suggest something that may solve this issue… Perhaps those who Kamijou Touma has decided to go gallivanting with, including this "Saint Lessar" are simply unaware that you're attempting to contact them through traditional means? Quite possibly, a magical mode of communication would allow for distance to be breached between your groups. I could cast such a spell, if both Accelerator and yourself are otherwise unable to do so."

Apparently, the spy hadn't considered that. He certainly didn't look like someone who'd considered such a rational and performable concept.

"Need somethin' that belongs to one of 'em," Motoharu rattled.

With that exchanging coming to a close, a search began.

* * *

February 10 th , 2004. 8:15 PM.

"Touma, Touma! Look at all this food! We have to bring it back to our room!"

"Index… we really shouldn't be dawdling. C'mon, I'm sure we can haul this stuff back later, if you really want it. The Amakusa have never been selfish, I'm sure they'd love to share."

Kamijou Touma and Index, the girl who'd memorized over one hundred thousand Grimoire Volumes had found themselves sidetracked; at least, the latter individual had found themselves sidetracked.

Wandering the vacant halls of Havenshire's fully-stocked, yet, oddly vacant general store – located in an isolated, run-down wing of the motel nearby the lobby with the makeshift church, Index had gone as far as to snatch up a basket, which she'd filled with goods, retrieved from various isles, of which there were a few.

Even though the general store was obviously not a functioning vendor of goods and foodstuffs, the little nun was either unaware of this fact or didn't care enough to heed the concept that she might've been trespassing.

In her hand, she'd picked up multiple cans of shredded salmon. The little nun with the silver hair balanced them in her available hand; she was about to grab at another, before her quest was interrupted by the words of her 'keeper', who'd intruded upon her fantasy.

In fairness, Index had to admit that she was in no position to become angry with him. He'd obviously humoured her for a few minutes, allowing her to go about her business, regardless of the fact that they were meant to be two people on a mission.

With this floating about in her higher mind, Index cooperatively placed her near-full basket of goodies down in the middle of the seafood isle, along with the cans she'd retrieved.

"Tou-ma. Promise we'll come back."

With a pat to the top of her head and a soft and affectionate, if quick peck to her cheek, Touma nodded in affirmation.

"I promise we'll come back and get you some food. We'll talk to Agnese-san before we take anything though, just to be sure. How does that sound?"

"Good!"

Without further incident, both the former Bearer of the Imagine Breaker and the little nun with the silver hair picked themselves up, proverbially and literally, and soon left the general store behind, stepping out through the rickety, creaking old doors.

Returning to the elevators, then calling an elevator car to deliver the two onto the motel's third floor, they disembarked once the car's doors creaked open, as if protesting their use.

In the dank, poorly-maintained corridor of the third floor, the sight Touma and Index spotted certainly wasn't what either party had been expecting. Without a doubt, neither particularly knew what it was that the were expecting to see; but it certainly wasn't the sight which they laid their respective visions upon.

Musujime Awaki, Oriana Thomson and Saint Lessar were crouched before an open doorway without a door, which offered an unprotected path leading into a motel room. Huddled closely together, they seemed to speak, then occasionally look up from their position, and retreat once more, seemingly to exchange words.

Beyond the former New Light Leader and Operative, beyond the crouching Move Point user, striding through the mostly-open fieldscapes surrounding the 'abandoned' motel, _they_ rode atop many horses. Clearly, this motel room had been damaged, somehow; an entire section of walling had collapsed, exposing the world beyond the room's shattered interior.

Easily, there were two dozen of them.

While their steeds were of different colourations, hues of brown, black and white being visible, forming something of a multicoloured, perpetually-moving sea, each heavily-armoured figure seated atop the beasts were clad in the same overall 'design' of body armor.

Unburdened by enormous, almost absurdly large pauldrons mounted upon their shoulders, dyed a shade of crimson and great, closed-faced, winged helmets, the mounted warriors were clad from their crowns to their bases in thick, terribly heavy-looking plated armor, each with a crooked, sainted cross placed smack in the centre of their monolithic chestplates. Great tower shields were cast over their backs.

Their beasts pulled something very queer indeed. Behind them, they pulled an enormous, metallic cage, bound in place and restrained, attached to a titanic, wood-carven wagon whose wheels shook and creaked aloud.

The cage was no empty, nor was it merely for show. It was stuffed, full to the brim with humans. Living, breathing, screaming humans.

Zeeee, nunununuuu.

Index looked on, eyelids widened, as the hands of her 'keeper' shifted. Ribbons of machine-phase matter danced madly, like swarms of angered bees rushing from their hive. Then, sharpened and elongated to the point of absurdity, Kamijou Touma strode forward, bearing his weapons of war. Quietly, Index marched alongside him.

It was Musujime Awaki who'd heard his footfalls first, the clacking of shoe soles against cobbled walkway catching her attention. The Move Point user turned back, and offered Kamijou Touma a tilt of her head, and a raise of her eyebrow.

"Loverboy," Lessar whispered, rather harshly, "get down and don't move. Crusaders are in Bristol… for some reason. They're not supposed be operating on UK soil. They're probably using a People-Clearing Field spell to avoid being immediately noticed."

Touma decreased his form's density, and, subsequently, his footfalls became entirely silent, as, soon, he no longer walked at all; instead, he drifted on the wind, like a feather.

"The what?"

"Roman Orthodox Traditionalist Crusade," Oriana stated firmly. Kamijou Touma was apparently expected to know precisely what this subject was. The truth of the matter was, he didn't. Apparently realizing this, the ex-freelancer clicked her tongue, more than likely in irritation.

Her brainwave patterns certainly suggested irritation was present within her.

"Part of the reason why the Amakusa-style Remix of Church has left the Church of England behind," the former Leader of New Light snapped. "Necessarius enables the Crusade to move about, purging 'heretics' from the face of the Earth, treating other human beings like dirt, like they're… Less, supposedly, because their God tells them to. A genocidal tyrant-God is no God of mine, and the Anglican Church itself is not any better. It has come to endorse the Crusade, and the Roman Orthodoxy's desire to purge the world of 'impure' faiths. Islam isn't a faith whose tenets I can agree with, but its moderate practitioners don't deserve to be hunted and slaughtered, or even forced to become Christian."

Lessar nodded, affirmatively.

"Thomson's got just about everything right. We Amakusa have agents on the inside, and, I'm sure they have crusaders spyin' on us, too, the bastards. It's how we know so much about their messed-up cause. From what we've gathered, the Crusade was formed after the fall of God's Right Seat, as something of a response to the defeat of God's Right S…"

Lessar stopped speaking, for a moment; this, in fact, was caused by her sudden focus on the Move Point user, who took to looking quite strangely at Kamijou Touma.

"These?" he rhetorically inquired. "That's a long story, Musujime… You're just noticing now? Anyways, so, about these Crusader assholes. Any special powers, crazy magic I… I mean, _we_ should know about? Or can I just rush in and kill the lot of them? Actually, I have another question. Why are you guys… In hiding? Looks to me like that's what's goin' on, here."

"Tou-ma is right, you know," Index interjected, with a sagely nod of her head. "You seem to be in a state of fear. I don't have any information on this… "Roman Orthodox Traditionalist Crusade" in my Volumes, but I do know plenty about the Crusades of old, the Church-sanctioned response to the Islamic invasion of the Holy Land!"

"We move," Oriana began, "and we potentially expose Hawkhaven as an Amakusa base of operations. Look at the ground beneath your feet, for a moment. Closest to the fences."

"So, in that case we're going to let screaming kidnapping victims get carried off to some terrible fate? I counted, by the way. There're one hundred and twenty-five people in that cage. That's a small village's population."

"Just look, Kamijou Touma," Oriana demanded, speaking in considerably impressive and surprisingly fluent Japanese.

Both Kamijou Touma and Index did what was asked of them, looking to the Earth. Musujime Awaki, who'd recently become privy to this detail didn't bother miming the act; instead, she remained crouched, her form pressed up against a close section of the fencing.

Teleporting the cage was apparently out of the option; the backlash received was a painful experience Awaki still found herself recovering from. Her silence, in fact, was caused by the setting of a certain reality, like a falling sun in a dusk sky: if she was going to learn more about the "Magic Side", she would first need more "Science Side" power.

Kamijou Touma and Index gazed on. There were runes, carved into the Earth itself, one both sides of the fencing, for as far and as wide as either of their eyes could see.

Curiously, Touma sent a nanorobotic scouting unit forward to scan and observe where his own eyes couldn't. Indeed, surrounding the entirety of the motel's exterior, these runes were carved, many repeating, but, others being completely nonidentical to each other. Some depicted what resembled a cloaked, hooded figure, displayed from the waist-up, wielding an enormous, jagged knife, while others depicted crude images of large cat-like creatures. Others, yet looked like letters; Index herself was quick to recognize these to be of Nordic origin.

"A People Clearing Field of your own?" Index inquired, lowering herself and briefly looking over the formations of the carvings.

In response, Oriana shook her head, no.

"Sight-Obscuring Field. Contrary to popular belief, the Crusaders aren't magicians themselves; they're instead greatly-trained warriors. Their equipment is enhanced through Roman Orthodox magics, but otherwise, the lot are perfectly average human beings."

"Like marines?" Touma inquired, to which Oriana produced a soft, barely-audible "mhm".

"Essentially. They're in top physical condition, constantly put through brutal training regimens… our plant wouldn't stop complaining about the horrid food they serve in their training camps. It only makes sense, given that most former members of God's Right Seat went on to break away from their Church, and take their vast array of talents with them. Obviously, Pope Matthai Reese wasn't fond… the Roman Orthodoxy clearly doesn't want to make the same mistake twice."

Kamijou Touma looked to Musujime Awaki, and scooted towards her. The nun with the silver hair pouted momentarily, before she suddenly looked like she'd remembered something important, and swiftly halted her course of action.

"How's this for another Magic Side incident?" Touma muttered, pushing himself close to the Move Point user. "Enjoying yourself? Not quite everything it's cracked up to be, but look, let's talk about something a bit more positive. Want to know something cool?"

"If you're trying to make me feel _less_ freaked out than I already am," Awaki began, "the thought's a cute one, but it's not gonna work, Kamijou. I don't think I've ever seen people getting hauled off in cages before, and, honestly? It's something I could've gone without seeing."

"And that's exactly why I'm going to kill every single one of those Crusader motherfuckers. Cool, no?"

Awaki spoke no words in response. Instead, she merely offered that boy a smirk of approval, and an affirmative nod of her head.

"Index. On my back, yeah?"

"T-Touma?!"

"Back, c'mon, we're going to lose sight of 'em if we don't push it. You want to come along, be included on my fucked up adventures, right? So here's your chance. You know what's happening, I just told you what I'm going off to do. You don't have to come. Just putting the option out there."

"T-To… Touma… I'm coming with!"

"Kamijou-kun..."

"Loverboy, hold it. I know what you're… hey! Hold up! Wait! Loverboy, get back! LOVERBOY! KAMIJOU!"

With the little, silver-haired nun, "Index Librorum Prohibitorum" clinging to his back like a monkey, Kamijou Touma spawned forth four enormous wings of machine-phase matter. They beat against the air as he quickly rose, flying straight upwards towards the clouds. Index's stomach churned and twisted inside of her as she held back more than one scream of instinctual terror.

Below, Oriana, Lessar and Musujime Awaki slowly grew smaller, as did the perpetually-moving mass that was the mounted "Roman Orthodox Traditionalist Crusade" warriors, or, so-called warriors.

Kamijou Know knew the truth of that matter. It was a ruse, a sham. True warriors didn't load their fellows, regardless of their race, creed or upbringing into a cage, like so many dogs being hauled off to some pound.

He suddenly barrelled downwards; two great, buzzing strands of nanorobotic resin emerged from Touma's back, and wrapped themselves around the little nun, Index, holding her safely in place. Against her face her lips smacked, buffeted around by the wind.

"I have an idea, Index," Touma spoke, as he positioned himself above the moving Crusader-hoard, wings beating against the air and allowing their owner to hover in mid-air; this, too allowed for Index to regain control over her churning stomach.

"These guys are Roman Orthodox, right? Can you do that thing where you sing and make them fall over? I forget what it was… Stiyl called it something… "Something Fear"? You kicked the Agnese Forces' asses pretty hard way back when with that."

"Oh, you mean Sheol Fear, Touma?" Index queried, panting softly. "Sheol Fear might just work. You'll have to get me close though. You're… Tou-ma, you're not really going to… _kill_ them, are you?"

He emulated the sound a human would make, if they'd exhaled and produced a sigh.

"Index, Thomson said it herself. That junker of a motel is an Amakusa base, they're going out of their way to keep it hidden. The Crusaders, or whatever they are, they're going to correctly assume we both came from there, and, if they're allowed to survive, they're going to spill the beans to whoever it is they spill beans to, probably a commanding officer or something of the like. We get rid of them, or they get rid of our friends. Which is it going to be, Index? This isn't some fantasy world where everyone can be saved. Some smiles have to fade, that's just… The reality of the thing."

Even as he continued to observe their movements, even as he moved forward in response, continuously ensuring that he was above the "warriors", who could hardly be called warriors, Index, the little nun with the silver hair wrapped her arms around the shoulders of her 'keeper'.

"Touma?" She rhetorically inquired; he was poised to answer, but, the little nun spoke first.

"What about a world where everyone can be happy? Everyone deserves salvation and a second chance, Touma. Everyone lives in God's Light, in one way or another. God likes every person who's alive, and, as a sister, it's my job to shepherd the lost lambs who stray from God's Holy Light. If I'd been with you, I would've tried to shepherd..."

"I know you would have. I know you would've tried to save Accelerator, Index. But a monster like that can't ever be saved. Monsters like this can't be saved, either. I know, sweetheart. This has got to be hard for you. A lot harder for you than for me."

Index contemplated, quietly. How long was she going to continue believing in her own rhetoric? Index was forced to admit, that's exactly what it'd become. It was rhetoric, something just spat out when the time called for it, when a situation needed to be manipulated, its course steered.

Then, Kamijou Touma spoke once more.

"If He's so all-powerful, the being who created everything just because He wanted it to be created," Touma began, vocalizing his potentially controversial remark, "then why doesn't He just make the world perfect? It's been done before, Index. The world has been made perfect before, and that was done by a… A very powerful being. If something that isn't God, and, therefore, must be less than God can make a perfect world, why can't God do it?"

Kamijou Touma manoeuvred himself into a nosedive, his great wings of nanorobotic resin beating against the air. His hands shifted, ribbons of machine-phase matter dancing, as they became hands once more, instead of elongated, sharpened blades.

"The fact of the matter is, Index… if there's a God, he doesn't give a _fuck_ about any of us! So, _we'll_ do what that lazy, good-for-nothing _cow_ can't or won't do, and we'll do it ourselves! If it's all part of some "Divine Plan", it's not a plan I want a DAMN thing to do with! Fuck God, for not giving me a choice! Fuck God, for making me kill these people! Strike me dead, hurl lightning at me, if you're such a big-shot! GO! Do something, anything, you lazy **deadbeat**!"

He neared them. Kamijou Touma was some mere thirty feet away. One, nearest the back of the group, closest to the great and macabre load they carried had begun to crane his neck, evidently having detected some sort of anomalous, audible stimulus.

"Together… Touma. Y-you don't bear this burden alone."

Even as tears slipped from the corners of her eyes, even as she sniffled, even as she grieved for the lives that would be lost, the little nun, Index, she'd come to figure it out. She understood. She considered and she understood. She, too, would shoulder the weight. No, it certainly wasn't what the Church of England taught. It was beyond the doctrine.

But what had the Church of England's doctrine ever done for her?

Yet, if God was so mighty, if God was so infallible, so perfect, so utterly, utterly insurmountable, then why was there suffering? Why did children in foreign lands starve while those in others flourished, becoming plump and decadent? Why was there murder, and why was there rape?

Why did someone like Kamijou Touma have to suffer?

The reality slapped Index in the face as Kamijou Touma nearly closed the mere, few inches between himself and the band of Roman Orthodox "Crusaders".

If God was good, why did He permit suffering?

If God was omnipotent, why would the destruction of suffering exist as an element beyond his power? If He created suffering, why could he not undo it?

If God was just, why did injustice reign supreme across the countries of the world?

The answer had never been clearer. As Kamijou Touma's fist connected with the back of a "Crusader", the farthest of the group, the closest to the caged humans who'd found themselves treated like the lowest of animals, like so many pieces of rubbish collected from the depths of a disgusting dustbin, the answer made itself known within the mind of Index, the girl who'd memorized over one hundred thousand Grimoire Volumes.

God was not good.

God was not omnipotent.

God was not just.

God was a horrid and abhorrent thing.

There were no calls to arms, no exclamations of terror, or of horror or of anger. Instead, the "Crusaders" acted as one, seemingly without a sole, vocalized command. Even as Kamijou Touma's target fell, his helmet forcibly knocked from his head by the power of Touma's fist, the density of which had been far increased, they did not falter.

Blades, flails, polearms which each "Crusader" wielded in one hand came forth, unsheathed and brandished before their foe.

As a group, they came forward, moving as a singular super-organism; and yet, as quickly as they formed up, their formation was broken.

Deep within her mind, the mind holding the one hundred and three thousand Grimoires, a certain fixation, a certain chant was 'plucked' from one of so many pages, pulled forward like a lucky card from a deck.

Index's sorrowful lamentation began, taking the form of a song as her hands clasped before her, as if she was in a state of repentance. Strands of machine-phase matter wrapped further around her, fastening her and securing her in place. The little nun's eyes closed, as she sung her dreadful tune.

They fell. Their doctrine challenged, their every tenet debated, their every ideal crushed before them, the "Crusaders" fell from the backs of their unnerved beasts, who quickly abandoned them and rushed for the safety of the wilds outside Bristol, where they would surely find more meaningful existences.

Zeeee, nunununuuu.

Kamijou Touma spoke, as his left shifted, ribbons of nanorobotic resin danced, changing shape, from hand to sharpened, curved, hooked blade.

"Not sure what any of you unlucky folks did, but, here. You're off the hook. Try not to get captured again, if possible."

The lock upon the cage was not merely sliced. In one hand, which had remained a hand, Kamijou Touma took the lock, and shifted the density of the extremity.

Soon, the equivalency of six hundred thousand pounds of force was upon the lock, and it could not hold out. Its function failed, its purpose was shattered, as were the restraints that allowed the lock to work at all as it was intended. With a slice of his left blade-hand, the lock fell, and the cage door was thrown open.

Like a human tidal wave, those who'd been loaded in fell, some weeping, some shouting to the skies themselves. Mothers clutched their suckling children to their bosom, and fathers spoke words of gratitude as they brokenly shuffled away, moving in a direction which held sights and locations unknown to Kamijou Touma.

Index's mournful wail-song continued, its hymns wracking the very minds of the "Crusaders".

Before the toppled group, Kamijou Touma knelt, Index remaining upon his back. He peered down at the 'Crusaders' as if they were little more than living garbage.

"Huh. You're all pretty pathetic-looking, aren't you? Look at this… quite a sight to see. Maybe… you know what? I have an idea. Just roll with me, here. Hear me out."

Zeeee, nunununuuu.

His right hand shifted shape once more, machine-phase matter bending to his whim, as it took on the appearance of a spade's head. His 'wrist' became elongated, as it hummed.

"Maybe I'll just bury the lot of you alive. Or… maybe… you know, a spade has other uses, aside from just digging holes…"

For a moment, Kamijou Touma truly considered the option of destroying his foes' heads with his spade-hand, breaking their skulls and shattering their faces like so many pieces of expensive, imported china; but he soon found himself looking back to the form of Index, who continued her song.

If he was going to kill in front of her, it, at least, should be humane. Quick, efficient and mostly-painless.

"Index? I want you to know that this isn't what I want to happen, I'm not doing this because I'm some sadistic monster. I'm doing this because I'm not being given any other choice. It's our friends, our allies or them, and…"

Her singing came to an end. Index leaned the side of her face against her 'keeper's' back, as he raised his right hand, machine-phase matter flowing freely, moving upwards and expanding.

The "Crusaders" struggled to rise. Their bodies seemed to betray them. Many slipped and many fell back to the cool grass beneath them.

"Touma… I understand that. Please… Touma… make it quick…"

"I will. I promise I'll end this quick. They won't even feel it."

" _But I wish they did. I wish I could wipe their families out of existence, slaughter them all like lambs, drive the whole lot of these Roman Orthodoxy motherfuckers to the edge of extinction, and then give 'em a playful shove… I'm not here to_ _ **save**_ _you. I'm here to_ _ **end**_ _you."_

Kamijou Touma's right hand had vanished completely; there remained no hand, not even a blade-hand to stand in its place.

Instead, a monumental thing, shaped like the head of a sledgehammer had formed. Twenty feet tall and thirty feet across, the buzzing mass of machine-phase matter's density was forcibly increased.

Coerced by gravity's pull, the mass of machine-phase matter was yanked downwards.

With a tremendous thud that shook the very Earth, a thud that caused Index's entire body to vibrate, those "Crusaders", each one of them, in fact, caught beneath the titanic thing's fall were crushed, dying before every bone in their bodies were ground to mere dust particles, their flesh forcibly torn, their brains and fragments of their skulls splattering about like the sprayed liquid released from a spilled bowl of fruit punch.

"Index… look. I want you to keep your eyes closed, okay? I'll tell you when to open them. Remember how I did that for you, when you asked? You think you can do the same for me? I-Index… I-I'm… fuck, what the fuck did I just _do?!_ Index!"

" _It felt good. Killing these cocksuckers… It felt better than cumming all over Seria's face… yet… Index…"_

"Touma."

"INDEX! I'm…"

"It's okay, Tou-ma. It's going to be okay. Sometimes, we have to make tough decisions… they deserved it, Touma. They deserved what they got. If their actions are sanctioned by God himself, then God is cruel and evil. Not every ending can be a fairy tale "happily ever after". Some people... Tou-ma, some people just don't deserve it!"

Kamijou Touma 'turned' in place, nanorobotic resin doing as he commanded. In mere seconds, he faced Index, who found herself clinging to his chest, instead of his back. Her eyes were closed.

He'd removed the monumental, hammerhead-like weapon he'd forged, and, quickly, the thing fell apart, machine-phase matter rushing back to Touma's main mass, from where it'd originated.

With an almost feverish haste, Touma threw his arms around Index's shoulders.

"Just keep those eyes closed for me, until we get over the hill. I'm…"

Index had heard more than enough. Even as her head throbbed, even as she, herself questioned everything she'd ever known, she spoke softly to Kamijou Touma, her 'keeper', the boy who was no longer a boy who she'd put through so very much. Who'd trudged through so very much to stay at her side.

Put simply, she adored him.

"Don't be sorry Touma. Anyone who obeys the command to lock people up in a cage, helpless, innocent babies… They deserve to die. If God isn't going to punish them, then _we_ will, Touma."

The task of burying the bodies was upon them.


	37. The Old Gods

February 10th, 2004. 8:30 PM.

"That's my final offer. You'll get nothing more from the Amakusa. On the plus side, you'll receive nothing less, so that is something for you to consider."

"Hm… hm, hm, hm… hm, indeed."

Kanzaki Kaori, Tatemiya Saiji and Itsuwa found themselves negotiating with the Dawn-Coloured Sunlight's child-leader in the parking accommodations of a seemingly abandoned motel. Still seated within the child-leader's personal escort vehicle, these negotiations seemed to be going no further.

At the very least, the soft, smooth backrest of Kaori's seat in the large, sprawling SUV offered her back a much-needed massage.

Upon a cheap, plastic table – a TV tray that had been separated from its limbs, and little more – a large sheet of paper cast over the table, like it was attempting to mimic the purpose of a tablecloth. There were many writing utensils scattered upon its limited surface space along with erasers and other means of error correction, taking the form of simple, innocuous office supplies.

Upon the sheet, there were scribbles, each 'side' separated by a line drawn through the centre, vertically. On Kanzaki Kaori's side, the Amakusa-style Remix of Church's offers were scrawled. On Leivinia Birdway's side, the Dawn-Coloured Sunlight's own demands.

"In summary," Kaori began, softly clearing a build-up of phlegm and salivary gland secretions from her throat, "in exchange for the Soulgrinder, the Daemoniac Weapon you possess, the Amakusa-style Remix of Church will extend its hand to assist the Dawn-Coloured Sunlight… in its endeavours, whatever they may be, for a total of three months' worth of time. The Amakusa-style Remix of Church possesses the ability to object, but not to… Pull out of this as-of-yet unsigned contracted. The Dawn-Colored Sunlight will, with this promise of direct aid, surrender the daemoniac weapon and agree to a temporary ceasefire, spanning three months' worth of time."

Leivinia Birdway leaned forward in her seat, left leg crossed over her right. Repeatedly, she bounced her foot up and down, over and over, as if she was in a state of irritation. With her chin cupped in her small, hand, the twelve-year-old child-leader's eyelids narrowed, momentarily.

"This… Contract… Hm. Yes. With the knowledge of your… Special friends'… Desires, I believe, contract aside, that we possess a mutual enemy in the Roman Orthodox Church, and in the Roman Orthodox Traditionalist Crusade, old lady. If you're not lying to me – and, for your sake I certainly hope that you aren't – your "Sons of Taured" possess quite a hoard of their own. The fall of Roman Orthodoxy is potentially upon us… What a joy indeed. To fell them is to fell a great arm of the multi-limbed beast that is the religious establishment. For both of us this would be a boon."

Her rambling came to a close, as she leaned forward further, eyeing the Priestess of the Amakusa-style Remix of Church almost warily. Her right eyebrow found itself rising, as a toothy grin stretched across her face.

"I've one last question to ask of you, retirement home escapee, before I put my name and the name of my cabal on any contract of yours."

"Ask," Kaori snapped, frustration barely-contained.

"Should I succeed in the felling of the Church of England," Leivinia began, grin widening further, "your aid will extend to the felling of the Roman Orthodox Church, as well?"

Without even a moment of hesitation, without so much as a single thought or moment of consideration paid to the issue, the answer came, fleeing from Kanzaki Kaori's lips.

"Yes."

"My, my; vengeful, are we, old lady? That's very interesting to me."

A vocalization interrupted the proceedings.

"You stall, Birdway. Out with it."

Tatemiya Saiji leaned forward as best he could and placed his clenched fist down upon the table's surface. At the act, Leivinia could only respond by kicking her feet up and giggling aloud. She merely waved her hand as Iosephus Thepes, who sat beside his child-leader leaned inward as well. Occupying the driver's seat and passenger's seat, respectively, Birdway and Thepes controlled the playing field. Kanzaki Kaori recognized the truth for what it was.

Upon Leivinia's swift performing of this simple action, the demon hunter proverbially stood down, lowering his hand, which had before been reaching toward the great weapon mounted upon his back.

"Provoking Academy City into action would be an amusing distraction, I think I can safely say. Your "Sons of Taured" can go about their plans of revealing magic to the world, so long as in the end, the Dawn-Colored Sunlight maintains control of both Sides. You see, all of these things, they must be regulated and controlled. For all I care the entire world can be populated with magicians and espers, living and working in harmony, but it _must_ be the Dawn-Colored Lady who holds the reigns.

"In case you don't realize, the respective collapsing of both the Church of England and the Roman Orthodox Church would create power vacuums, without a doubt.

"Should the Crusade be forced from the Mid-East, Africa, and the multiple Chinese breakaway provinces it has taken to terrorizing to defend its homeland, the failed Mid-East states will attempt to reach out, and infect what remains with their… _Islam. Ugh,_ horrid. That goes for the Western World, as well. This is why order would need to quickly be established, following the events."

Kanzaki Kaori looked to her Substitute Supreme Pontiff, and then to Itsuwa.

What choice was there? That was what Kaori read their facial expressions to silently express. The Soulgrinder couldn't be left in the hands of Leivinia Birdway, and, for all intents and purposes, all support was needed, from all fronts. A temporary truce, a partnership even at the cost of the Amakusa-style Remix of Church's own dignity seemed to be, ironically enough, a necessary evil.

Both Itsuwa and Tatemiya Saiji nodded at their Priestess, and then looked to she, who lead the Dawn-Colored Sunlight, Leivinia Birdway.

The decision was in her hands. Where the Priestess went, the Amakusa-style Remix of Church would follow, and she would keep them close. They work would as one, not one 'above' or 'beyond' the other.

"We, the Amakusa-style Remix of Church hereby agree to the terms set forth in their entirety."

"W-o-n-d-e-r-f-u-l news, everyone! Now, all we've got to do is have you sign it in ink. Do you remember how to write, old lady? Or did the Alzheimer's take that from you, too?"

With a cackle that wouldn't have sounded out of place uttered by a particularly wicked witch, Leivinia Birdway looked to the small group of suit-clad men who stood behind Iosephus Thepes.

Lined and, not counting its ornate borders, quite a simplistic thing, Leivinia Birdway handed the sheet of paper off to Kanzaki Kaori. With her index finger, she pointed to the absolute bottom of the sheet.

"Sign here, old lady."

Casting her gaze to Itsuwa, and then to Tatemiya Saiji, Leivinia raised an eyebrow, as if she expected the adherents of the Amakusa-style Remix of Church to suddenly bend the knee.

"You too, both of you. You're the highest-ranking among your faithful, no? Substitute Supreme Pontiff and Holy Vanguard, if I'm remembering my dossiers correctly."

Ignoring the child-leader's comment about 'dossiers', Kanzaki Kaori, Tatemiya and Itsuwa each signed their names at the bottom of the otherwise unmarred piece of paper, each individual only a little more reluctant than the last.

Upon completing this task, Leivinia Birdway quickly snatched the sheet of paper, and passed the thing off to Iosephus Thepes. With a nod and a polite, extended bow, the demon hunter left the premises.

"And, that's that," Leivinia spoke, with an affirmative nod of her head. "It's… Good to be working with you, old lady. Thepes will pass the Soulgrinder to you, now. If I might ask… Why do you want it so badly? Also, I might add, don't try and handle it with your bare hands… Saint. Bad things will happen to you if you do so. Put on some gloves."

"Because," Itsuwa began, "such a thing can't be held and used sparingly. A weapon like that needs to be stored away in a safe, buried deep in the earth and far away from the grasping hands of… Bad dudes. Imagine the massive, monumental loss of life that could occur if a weapon like that was used in a packed urban centre! It would… it would suck, pretty badly. That's exactly the sort of thing bad dudes would try to pull."

Itsuwa had phrased the issue differently than the Saint of the Far East would've, but, the point got across. Kanzaki Kaori merely produced a soft 'mhm', in response to the Amakusan Holy Vanguard's words.

Some time passed, and the two parties continued to face off in silence. Leivinia Birdway merely produced her phone and began to poke away at the device's touchscreen interface while Kanzaki Kaori, Tatemiya Saiji and Itsuwa quietly discussed matters of their own.

Producing it from beneath him – perhaps it had been obscured beneath his passenger's side seat – Iosephus Thepes quietly placed the Soulgrinder upon the makeshift table, as if it was little more than a glass of freshly-poured water.

Itsuwa raised her hands to her mouth, eyelids widened. From within the foul apparatus, many plumes of emerald green smoke were forced outwards, drifting steadily towards the ceiling. Occasionally, the Soulgrinder would shudder in the hands of the demon hunter, as if it was fit to explode.

Being so close to it was overwhelming. As a Christian, Itsuwa felt as if a fundamental aspect of her very soul was affected, in some way. It was horrible to look upon. Disgusting. The sort of vile, putrid thing that should have been buried on a vacant island in the middle of nowhere, forgotten forever.

The Amakusan Holy Vanguard nearly wretched.

"I should warn you, Saint of the Far East. Handling of the Aughsbak without the required protection will result in…"

"Gloves, I know. Your Dawn-Coloured Lady and I already had this discussion. I'd much prefer for us to keep our interactions to a minimum, 'demon hunter'. Your _kind_ …"

"Do we sicken you, Saint of the Far East? Does the cursed immortality we're bound to offend you? I truly must ask."

Kaori merely clicked her tongue in response, before her own desire go the better of her. Wielding the unlikely, bubbling rage like a weapon, she struck with her words.

"Your very existence sickens me. The power you dabble in and brandish as a weapon is best left in whatever foul Hell spawned it. Whatever may have been taken from you, _demon hunter,_ your pain does not excuse your profane methods."

"And yet," Thepes began, "without us, without the Lord, Cain, our kind would have been long ago driven to extinction, our world charred and laid to waste, becoming one of so many Demon-Worlds. You ought to show even a small amount of gratitude."

"I'd much prefer not to," Kaori quickly responded.

Upon the table, Iosephus Thepes haphazardly threw down three sets of winter gloves after he produced them from within the pocket of his suit jacket.

Before any further actions could be taken, by anyone among the two parties, Leivinia Birdway extended her hand, with her smartphone clutched in her palm.

"I'd like to be able to lay siege to Vatican City as soon as it's humanly feasible. The resistance will be furious and foes abound, but, what's life if you don't have a good fight to keep your blood pumping, right old lady? You need the cardiovascular exercise, anyways. We wouldn't you to suddenly drop dead from a cardiac arrest… Now. Get out of my car. All three of you, scram."

With little more than a polite nod in Leivinia's direction, Kanzaki Kaori lead Tatemiya Saiji and Itsuwa outwards from the SUV's exterior. Stepping into Hawkhaven's parking accommodations, the Saint, Substitute Supreme Pontiff and Holy Vanguard approached the ratty, forlorn motel's entranceway doors.

* * *

February 10 th , 2004. 8:36 PM.

"Did I ever tell you about that white guy, Index? Accelerator, I mean. The one I hacked apart. I figured you'd hate me for doing something like that to someone, but, I guess that isn't what happened, is it? You deserve to know the truth, one way or another. He was a murderer. He killed over ten thousand people."

"Is… why? Why would he do such a thing? Was there a purpose behind it Touma?"

"None at all, as far as I know. He was the City's bitch, he just went along with it, seemed to enjoy it a bunch, too. That fucking smile, Index… I'd kill for the chance to wipe it off his face a second time. I really don't know why I let him leave that switchyard."

"He did seem off, even when we first met… And what about that little girl he was always with, Touma? "Last Order?"

"I'm not sure about the whole thing behind that."

"Accelerator saved her, but that doesn't make it right, Touma."

"No, Index. It sure as fuck doesn't just erase the fact that he killed thousands of people. I only let it go… Because I was a pathetic, spineless little cowardly piece of shit… Digging this hole, it's getting me thinking about things. People."

"You weren't pathetic, Touma… You're different now, but that doesn't mean that you're bad."

By a stroke of luck, or perhaps, more accurately, by a stroke of misfortune, the number one strongest esper in all of Academy City had managed to come upon the form of that no-good runaway hero.

What that hero was up to was unknown to Accelerator, who observed from on high, aloft with the aid of four, great pulsating wings jutting from the centre of his back. They were pitch black, like spilled oil. Hissing streams of blue and dark purple rose from either wing, snapping at the atmosphere as if aggressively defending their territory. Misshapen limbs protruded from those unsightly wings; half-formed arms. Twitching, deformed legs ending in multiple feet, with jagged, cracked toes. Eyes. So many eyes. Blinking, focusing, looking in innumerable directions.

Unsurprisingly, that nun was nearby. Were they ever apart from one another?

Accelerator drifted downwards, directing the wind away from his form with little effort, nothing more than a simple mental calculation.

A wide, toothy grin formed at the sight before him. Academy City's 'top dog' looked upon the sight with what seemed like glee. His skull, split open, leaking lifeblood and grey matter like a cracking dam's walls seemed to shudder as his lips exposed two rows of chipped, bloodied teeth.

There were bodies, stacked in a pile. Clad in identical suits of armor, they were stacked like so many heaps of garbage, atop one another, unceremoniously and without care.

What was that thing nearby? It looked like a wagon, like something straight from the set of an old-style western film. Unlike that sort of prop, there was an enormous… something on it. It resembled a cage, but, surely that couldn't have been its purpose. Perhaps it was designed to safely carry items of importance?

Kamijou Touma, that hero, that complete idiot who always rambled on about protecting smiles and making sure everyone got themselves out of a jam with their lives intact, he was digging into the earth, not with a shovel but with his own left hand, which had taken the form of an ugly, grey-coloured head of a spade. This tool existed where a hand should've existed, but, there was no hand, where a hand would've, could've, or perhaps should've been.

Nearby, that nun-girl with the silver hair, "Index", was she called? The name stuck out in Accelerator's broken, literally damaged higher mind. Regardless of what her name was, she stood nearby, seemingly exchanging words with that damnable hero.

Within the span of a few seconds, Accelerator touched down upon the grass, the soles of his cheap trainers kicking up sports of mud, and tearing up sections of the rolling fieldscapes in which he found himself, where Kamijou Touma and that nun found themselves.

Accelerator's lips found themselves moving before his conscious mind even commanded them to. As if he lacked control over his own body, he spoke aloud.

The voice was not Accelerator's own.

The voice was not human. It was not a single voice; but a cacophony of maddening half-whispers mixed with monstrous, manic screaming.

"H̶̢̛͎̱̼̮̝͇̬̓̔̔̚ö̵̧̖̫̝̙̙̞̪̭͓͉͑͘w̸̘̄͑́̇̔̀̕ ̸̥̤̌t̷̝̭̫͙̙̟̃͠h̴̨͇̝̥͇͔̳͙̫̭͙͉͑ͅę̴̡̣̦̝̠̖̜͋͋͑̍̉͜͜ ̸̛̞̘̼͓̟̭̹͙̇̋͒͊͛͊̃͛m̶̩̝͈̖͈̍̃͋̊́̔̌̑̾̾̍̐̊͝ͅḯ̴̧͖̤̙̹̩̳̖̳͚̥̩̤̮̾͗̈́̄͂͋͌̊͌̊̚g̵̡̩͔̻͓̣͚͆ͅh̸̨̨̧̨͙̻̥̭̝̤͍́̉̑̎̓̂̌̑̚t̷̡͉̱̬̬̺̘̫̣̝̿̓̑̔̇y̷̡̡̻̺̠̫͍̙̝͉̓̊͆̆̈́͝ͅ ̶̡̣̺̪͔̘̼͇͉͚͌̈h̶̦̲̩̘͉̥̘͇͚̯̯̦͔̰̉͂̒̋̓̃̎̕̕̕ͅa̷̹̬͋͑v̸̡̤̭͍̞̳̠̥̳̮͕̫̥͖̋̓̎̏̍͒́̃͊̿̀͐̀͘ė̶͎̟̮̭̇̇̌́́͋̎̀͗͠͝ ̸̛̫̦̲͚̼͔͖͈̔́̃̎̌͒̾͆̕͠͝f̶̢̨̛͇͎̺͒͑̋͌̆͊̇̋̐ͅa̴͎͊̄̿̉͋͋̚̕͠l̸̢̧͙͈̘̠̖̘͚͖̮͓̠̩̞̃̈́̈̔̌́̋͋̆̓̓͑̕͝͠l̴̨̝͇̣̮̗̙͔̯̦̖̼͑̀ę̴͍̝̞͖͇̖͓̪͙͉̍̅̀̈́̂̂̓̃͛̆̕n̴͓͖͔̠̲̟̭͉̼̾̌̈́̒̽̚̕."

Accelerator's skin seemed to have been 'infected'. It was discoloured, turned pitch black like a clear midnight's sky. Plumes of pallid blue and dark purple rose like smoke from a raging fire. Blinking eyes, rapidly darting about in their pulsating, encrusted, puss-filled sockets. Hungering maws with gnashing, razor-like teeth snapped at nothing.

An enormous, misshapen limb suddenly sprouted from the corpse's back.

That's what this was. A corpse.

The arm, twitching as if in pain, was covered in eyes. Smaller, deformed limbs sprouted from the greater mass. Elongated, clawed fingers scratched at the air.

Index craned her neck, and seemingly jumped at the sight of the number one strongest esper in all of Academy City, a mass-murderer, a monster who took thousands of lives, a man whose hands were forever stained with the blood of the innocent.

To the Accelerator's surprise, it was the little nun with the silver hair who answered, facing the first-ranked level five down, her eyebrows arched aggressively.

"You… you disgust me. If I had known the kind of creature you were when we first crossed paths in that underground shopping centre, I never would have even been seen in your presence. To take innocent life without so much as a thought! Remorse as an afterthought doesn't absolve you of your crimes, Accelerator!"

"T̷̥̀͌̎̄́̑́̃̌͗̽̀͆̚͠h̵̢̢̢̡͚̫̻͖̥͈̺̙̟͔̐͗̏̐̀̅͊ę̴̡͚̹͚͉̗̹̲̺̦͍̄̈́̏͌͌͌̇̍̋͠͝ ̵̛͖̘̍͑̑͆̒ͅİ̷͎̯͈͆̇̉̂̓̐̇̎̃͆͒͘̕͜n̴̪̩̻̓̆ͅd̷͔̭̱͍̲͕̍̕͜ë̵̫̼̦̭̹̘́͜x̴̧̱͙̩͈̰̘͚̒̏͊̈͐͘̚͠͝ ̶̺͔̹̯͕̝͑̌̄̀͋͒͝͠ͅL̵͍͙̏̎̿̓͗̂́̓̒̋̓͝͠į̶̹̱͇͎̺̯͖͍̯͔͔̜͐̈́̀͊͐̏̽b̶̤̞̻͔͖͈̮̟̙̩̼̪͇͙̀̓̅̔́̎͛̔̒̓̾̃͘͜͝͝r̴̦̩̣̠̻͔̪̠͇̮̟̤̀͋́̍̃o̵̧̻͌͗̀́͆̂̎͑̉͘r̷͓̯͙̟̜͙̊̾͊̑̆̑͘ų̶̛̛͔̗̖̥̬̅͛͛̅̓̆͛͠m̶̭̣̯̲̻̟͇̭̱͔̗̹̉̒̇̂̑͊̀̏̂͜ ̵͔̹͖̻͚̬͓̗̻̤̓̚P̴͍̪̥̘̳̯̱͇̣̤̅̈́̈́̈̓͑̀̓̇̕̕͠͝ŗ̸̱͖͚̜̺͒͝ͅǫ̸͈̞̙̺̪̼̮̤̱͓̎̊͌̅̓̑̏͛͑́ͅͅḩ̷͇͙̹̖͂́͑̾͑̓͗̈́̒̌͌͘ì̵̧̛͙̟̩͇͕̟̞̮̦̟͍̮̏̐̑̒̓̈́b̸̧̜̹͇̮͙͕̙͋̿̀ǐ̴̡͙̇̅̇́͑̀́̈́̍͗̀̎t̴̢̨̢̥̲̯̱̣̙̳̗̀̓̈́ō̶̧̻̥͕͚̹͉̘̝͖̊͆͠ͅŗ̸̢̝̻͙̲̥̱̰̲͔͓͈̪̿̒̇͗̍͜͝u̷̧̯̖͔̞̫͖̰̗̇́̾͐̿̔̿̈̉̀͑͝͝m̵̭͑̾,̴̨͚̹̰̗̼̖̠̠̿̌̓̏̏̄͋̓͐̅̌̽͒̚ͅ" not-Accelerator responded, with a casual shrug of the corpse's shoulders. "Ÿ̶̭̑́̆̄͛̃̿̈͑́̇́̕͝ơ̸̗͕̣̥̐̇̌̂̽͑͗̅̈̚͜͝͝u̸̥̬͎̬͍͔͌̓͠ ̷̨̦̼̖̗̾̎c̶̡͓̹̟̥̣̦̪͙̼̬̙̋̐̌͒̅͒͛͝ä̸͉̯͓̣̙͚̼̲́̿͠n̴̡̧̲͔͚͈̱̺̽̀ͅņ̷̮̰̰̭̼̻̬̱̹̼̠͖̝̀̾̅̀̌͛͗̓̓̒͋́o̷̢̧̬͉͚͇̻̞̬̭͙͑̾͑͊̓̀͆̅͒̕͝ͅţ̶̛̙̺͙̰̠̽͌̾̊̈̌̔͌̃ͅ ̶͈̙̙̤̖̯͇͍͔̺̞͊͋̿̏͗̉̀̽̀̎͘̚͝͝͠c̶̱̾̿̐̌͌̓͆̉̈́̏̓́͒͠ó̵̦͎̖̠̜̻͈̙͈̱̄͋̎̅̎͘͜n̴̬͙̋̈́̄̓̉̓̈́̚͝͝c̴̢̨̛̘͎͍̥̞̲͎̲͉̏̍̄̀̄̏̉̂͘͜ȩ̶̧̪̮̻̺̯͕̖̭̍͆̿̈́͑̈́͊͆̎͗̐̓̔i̵̭̖̹͉̖̩͆̑v̶̡̹̗̰̫̖͚͔͚͕͚̗̈̀̈̄̈́̏ę̸̨̡̘͖̮͖͕̥͕̖̖͍͚̰͒̔͝ ̶̢̨̢̛͕̭̠̮͋̈́̉̋͊̆̕ͅo̵̦͊͌̽̊͐͘ͅf̴̝͎̩͇͇͋́̓̈́̒͊͒͝ ̶̜̹͖͉̫͓̜͉̦̖̝̫̬̠̓̀̐͊̐̿̔͜͝͠t̵̢̘͕̼̟̱̟̻̫̤͓̏̈̍̏̽͜͝͠h̸̨̛̯̝̥̺͈̥̖̪̪͑̎́͒̀̓̉a̴̛̛̭̙̫̜͐̇͋͆̄̑͋̾̽̔̉̚t̸̲̗̗̰͖̫̘̮̥̝́̄̓̈́́̾ ̷̧̡̢̫̝͚̜̬̹̹͉̮̼̭̰̽̾͊̈́̀̓͌͒̑͘͘̚ẃ̵̥̏̉̈h̸̰͇̙͙̍̾̊͑̿͘ī̶̛͍̠̞̻̪͔̥̭̌́̿̊͊̂͗̍̈̕͠c̷̡̱͍̮̬̦͇̟̰̼̥̰͓̿͊̐͑͒͛̈͆̆͊̽̾͊̇̚͜h̴̗̻͔̘̰̿̏͗͘͝ ̸̧̝͖̟̟̪̬̲͈̦͉̬̝̲̀͐̒̏̂̐̃͘ṕ̷̫͙͔̖͕͈̠̰̮̭͇̣̤͇̦̓̈̃̋̈́͋̋̌ü̷̠̯̠̬̱͒͆́͜l̷̡̺̹̮̰̗̮̱̺͍̿̇͂̈́l̶̡͓̞̳̗͍̽̅s̸͇̯̻̫̫̟̠͍̫̀ͅ ̸͓̠̬̝͎̠̪̲̟͕̍͛́̅̂̊̕t̶̬̖̘͓̙͈͒̊̃̏̉̓̿̊͌́̇ͅh̵̡̛͍̫̽̈́̀̀̀̽͑̔̐̚e̵̠̖̹̗̖̲̻̱͔̹̲͊̈͋̇͜͜ ̸̨̡̢͇̳̺͙̳̜͒̔͂͂̄͑̀̓͊̕͠s̵̡͉̥̲͚͈̼͕̟̥̣̱̹̦̖̄̀t̴̨̢̠̰͙͎̪̤͈̘̯͂r̸̡̨̡͈̘͍̺̮̜̫͖̬̤̼̽̐̎̑ì̴̫̤̦̩͉̋́͑̌̍̚͘͝ň̵̨̡͕̰͈̖͎͖̗̗͖̪̇͆͆̂̂̓̄͜͜͝ǵ̴̻͉̬̮̬̣̒̈́̽̊͠s̶̮̞̖̿͆̈́̈́̄́̍̚ͅ ̵̠͈͖̦͇͔͕̆̆̂͂̏͜͝ỡ̶̢̠̗͇͔̱͎͓͓̤̫̹͎͉̾̓͊͆́̿̉͒̑͘̕͠͝f̵͇͎̱͐̄͗̈́͌̾̋͗͆͑̚̕ ̵̨̘͕̪͙̘͕̣͂̔̒͒͛̑̾̉̕͜͜͜͝ť̵̬́̍̍̔͋̇͒̽͘ͅh̷̨̭̳̲͇̲̯̮͙̞̓̑̽͛ͅͅi̴̭̗͚̦̼̹̯̾̓s̶̡̲̬̝̩̜̱̻̜̙̀͘ ̶̢͚̜̭̘̙͖̦͈̜̽̂͂̏̒̚p̵̱͍̯͛̈́̽́̄́̆̿́̄̿́̌u̶̻͚̯̜͓̟͍͒͆̎̐̂̑͑͆̄̓̒̚͝p̶̧͎̯͙̃̑̾p̴̧̧̮͙͚̤̹̼̪̻̼̦͈̏̄̍̒͑̒ͅͅȩ̴̼͚̯̫̤̼̜̪̯̺͙̥͗͗͝ͅť̸̹̖̗̬́̑̈́̑.̶̨̘̼͙̜͓́̉̀͆̓"

He would've remained stoic; he could've, or, perhaps, he should've. Maybe Accelerator should've tried to hold his ground and resist the obvious contempt the little nun held for him, but, his own eyelids found themselves widening once more.

Kamijou Touma's left hand shifted. Some sort of… ribbons, they were like ribbons, or, perhaps, they were more akin to so many serpents, slithering about. Dancing, swirling, twisting, dark grey in coloration, they looked less like objects and more like a swarm of angered insects. From Kamijou Touma's left wrist, they funnelled and shuddered, as the head of the shovel soon dissipated, replaced by a left hand, four fingers, with a thumb. Perfectly normal.

The boy, the former Bearer of Imagine Breaker turned to face the mass-murderer, the beast who'd slaughtered over ten thousand people in cold blood.

Kamijou Touma's vision destabilized, as a wave of machine-phase matter flowed before him, like the currents of a body of water.

It was another vision, if a vision was what these strange occurrences truly were.

It was the switchyard, in school district seventeen. The night sky above was dotted with golden, twinkling stars, while, behind them, as if to accent them, the moon glowed brightly, blessing the City of Science in the Far Eastern isles with its illuminating rays.

Accelerator was there. Misaka Mikoto's little sister, "Misaka number ten thousand and thirty-two" was there, sprawled out on the ground, looking upward, utterly terrified. Her facial expression betrayed her fear. Misaka Mikoto herself was there. Her face was twisted, her lips curled downwards into a frown, which she obviously fought against.

Her face was wet, her cheeks stained with the tears she'd shed.

There was a simple suggestion offered to Kamijou Touma, through an influx of internal, invisible, silent, yet, paradoxically booming data. As the machine-phase matter that had masked his vision dissipated, Touma listened to the two-word suggestion.

" _Kill_ _him again."_

Nothing had ever made that much sense before.

"I don't know how you're alive. I _killed_ you. I guess I'll just do it again. Maybe, if I get lucky, you'll come back twelve thousand times. Then, I can pay you back in full."

"T̸̻̠̦͍̦̗̹͓̬͙͒̏͑͂͛̍͂̚ǫ̸̛̛̤̞̟͔̲̟̼̩̼̺͓̊̀̈̌̉̅̀͑͜ü̵͓͆͋̃͋̓͋͋͘m̴̤̮̍̒̈ą̶̛̗̦͚͚̤̬̻͉̹̥͉̏̉̌̍̈́̾͒̋̍̈́͜ ̴̨̡̛̞̻͕̩̩͇̮͖̬͔̱̝͋̓͂̇̾͊́̉̏͜K̵̡̮̤̲͎̻̘̲̇͊͌͛͑̄́͒̓͆́̋̈́̓̚ḁ̴̧̡̣͚̹͇͎͕͉̜́̋̏͋̓̀̄̔͛̕̕m̶̢̡͍̫̟͉̺͓̹͍̺͛ͅȋ̸̛̛̞̰͂́̒̈́̀̇̓̄̚͠͝͝j̷̘͉̜͓̭͍̾̔͒̑͗̔͆͐o̵̙͖͍̰̜̳̦̥̹͆̍͝ͅṳ̴̖̲̌͛̓̎́ͅ.̵̡̘̺͔͚̞͙̣͔̥̬̲̞̅̋̍̿̿̕ ̸̣̩͕͖̮͑̓̃̈́̍̿͋̀̏̋̈́̉̀̚͝ͅY̶̨̛͇̪̪̙̰̺̞̘̲̿͗̀̉̈̚o̴̜͑̈́̑̓͒̈̓̽̍̈́͘͘͝͠͝ū̶̠̝͓͓͕̝͙̮̘͙̀̒́͛ ̶̡͕͙̜̱̮͍͈̮̻̄́̌̓̄̔̿̐͂̕̚ȁ̵̦͙͙̣̹̠̩͈̎̉ŗ̸̡̯̙͓̝̳͎̜̠̍͜͜͠ẹ̶̥̺̠̺̖̜̻̜̙̘̮̥͖͖̆͘ ̶̧̜̥͖̼̖̤͓͉̘̹̃̊̉̈́͑͘n̵̡̨̛̛͎̥̮̼͉̅͊͑̓̇̊͋̈́̀̽͝͝ơ̴̢͙̞̖̩̲̫̹̻͖̩̞̓̎̉t̵̢̛̺̯̝̩͙̱̒̅̓̒̋̎́̉̽̀̒̋͘͠ͅh̷͈̝̙͖̏i̶̖͓͗͒̏̋̑̄̂̈́͘̚̕͝͝͝͠n̴͖̞̈̑́̇̚͝g̷̛̭̫̠̹̈́̽͛͒̚̕͠.̶̟̥͚̺̝̀͛͌̂̀̎̆̈́̋̊̆̚ ̴̘͔̱̣̮̠̱͈̮̻̠͈̺̜̋͂̕͝Y̵̪̙̲̘͕̘̟̾̋̿̈́ǫ̵̛̘̞͓̟͇̦̟͕̖̔́̀̔̂̾̔̀̽͝ů̶̮̹͙̞̾ ̷̢͖̲͙̬̗̖̬͈̭̠͍̻̖̘̾ä̶̧̨̨͕̲̥̩̳̦͔͓͝r̵̢̨̛͚̊́̄̔̂̐̌̚͘͠ę̷̝̥͎̈́̐́̾̓͆̏̂̾͘̚͘͠͝ ̷̢̛̥̥͇͔̥̼̭͎͊̀̄̎̆̔͊̃͛̋ḯ̸̢̨̢̨̺͕̰͇̫̟͔̖̺̤͂̆̕͜n̴̛̯̦͇͔̊̓͛̾̑̀̕̕ć̵̘̖̲̣͖̜̝̥͎̗̝̹̀̐̑̑̏̐̎̕o̸̢̹͖̦̳̻͓͛̈̂͜n̶̘̯̜̘̱̈͒ş̶̜̬̗͈͖̫͙̮̫̩̞̼͕̀͌̕͜͠e̴̙͖̣̹̗͎̩͍̗̩̼̾̈́̈́̎͛̈́̔͑̀͂̂̈͘̚͠q̷̢͍̮̘͍̘͌͒̾̓u̴̗̔̈́̏̚͝ė̷̢̥͉̱̖̯̥̈́̓̒̓̈́́̈n̴̺̼͍͈̠̗̜͋̅t̴̡̧̮̲͈̳͙͓͉̳̝̟̂̅̑́̔͘i̶̡̧̖̯͍̻̳͈̣̗̘͒̓͂̃͛͘͜a̶̯̬̬̟̪̤̦̜͇̲̝͚͕̋̊́̏́̎̈́͑͒̕ͅl̴̟̥̻̩̤̗͔̜̜͈̓̓͂́̌̄̆͐̈̄̈̀͠,̸̙̤̹͊̈́͑̀̃̀̈̋̑̆͊̾̚ ̷̢͉̯̮̦̭̼̤̪̦̭͎̻̣̏͐̔̍͘ͅä̶̢̗̱̗̤̖͓̼͓͎͇̞̟́͛̈̽͒͊̓̉̕͠ͅs̶̢̟̜͊͗̌̒͐̅͘̚ ̴̜̤̜͈͙͉̙͇̦̯͛́̐̊͊͆̑͘͘͝͝i̵͊̓͜s̷̟̬͎̳̑̅̆̑̿́ ̷̳̜͉͉͈̱̥͇̍͋̍͒̑̐̾̿͘͠y̴̛̦͙̭̽̅̏̍̓̎͝ŏ̶̡̨̯͖͔̰̖̾̐̒u̴̧̡̧̢̻̞̜͓͚̭̪̺̗̤͌̽̂̇́̃̄̽̌̈̕ŗ̵̡̛̺͎̹̗̫͕̠̘̲͛̍ ̵̪͛̿̇̄͊͠͝e̵̤̘͍͆́̿̆͝n̵͙̝̙͈̝̹̜̫͙̝͈̜̈́̀̊͆̒̒̉̎̒̎̎̾̕͘͝ẗ̴̟̼̺̪̺̍̈́̇̇͑̏̓̊͘͠í̵̢̢̢̡̛͖̪̖͇̱̩͓̻̤̂͛̂́̀̾͋̈̉͘͜͝͠ŗ̵̼̙̰̺̟̰̼̤͋̂̈́̿̒͑͒͆́̿͊̇e̸̡̡͔͙̪̼̞͎̫͓̎̑̑͘͘̕͝,̶̧͍͕̝͍̤͂͐̂̈́͜ ̷̧̢̼̼̱̱̝̜͇̫̘͈͍̉͌͗̚̚͝ḿ̴̡̨͓͓͕͈̤̖̬̭̹̭͙̈́̿͋̃͒͂͘͜͠͠į̷̨̩͚̰̥̼̗͓̋͆́̄͗͆͊̐̎̍̚ś̵̢̨̡̨̤̱̰̯̺͚͈̤̿b̴̝̫̱̻̳̼̠̬̎͆͊̊̈́̌̉̀̄́̚͝͝ė̵̞̩̈́̑͂͐̿̋̄̏͘͘͜ǵ̶͇͕̝̑͌̇ͅơ̸̖̯͒̂͂͌̃͒͛̂̍̇̌̆͝͝t̸̡̡̞͕͉̣͔͕̜͖̳̱͍͖̼̉͐̊́̓̌́̒̏͋͑̃͑̕͝ţ̷̹̖͚̿̀̀ͅè̸̡̢̙͉̃͒̀͠n̵͇͍͍͍̣̠̫͙͛ ̷̼̮̙̘̐͂͗̿̎͒̑͊͗͘ş̷͖̭͇̜̙̼̣͙̟͐̆͌̓̋͆̽p̴̖͈͔͔̽́̃͒e̸̛͓̬͓͕͚̰̲͎̫̞̦͎̒͜č̶͇̦̪̱̋̒̿̓̔̈́̾̾͑͌̊̚͝ī̷̲̪͕̔́̄̇͗̑̉̕͘͘͝e̵̢̛͍̲̫̲̥̱͖̜͛̿̑̍͊͊̌̑͘͘͜͜ṡ̶̩̦̝̗̺͈͈̜͇͔̤͕͆ͅ.̵͙͚̹̣̘̠̐͑͛̅͌̕"

"I don't know what I was thinking, exchanging words with the likes of you on the jet… maybe it was something left over, something from when I was… less. Look at you. You hold yourself with… confidence. You shouldn't even be alive. The fact that you're standing here before me is a testament to the fact that I was a flawed, fucked up shell of a human being. You should've fucking died at the switchyard. You _died_. I _killed_ you! HOW THE FUCK ARE YOU BACK?!"

In response, Accelerator spoke, taking a step forward. Index placed herself between her 'keeper' and the man she'd only recently learned was a mass-murdering animal, a beast that needed to be put down.

"T̴̥͈̼̗̖̤̈̑̈́̏̄̊̀̇̕h̶̨̛͕̼͕̞̙̞̯̖̀͋͐̑̂̔̋͌̐̚͝è̷̙̻̟̞͔͍̳͔̈́͗̐̉͌͊̂̐̎͜ ̷̧̢͈̺̺̏̍͆͛̉̔̍̚̚͝A̶̱̣̳̝͔͚̟̘͍̹̎̈͐̓͌̓́̎̀̈́̐c̸̢̫͐͒͆̓̑̀̒̎̃̈́̈́͘͝ĉ̵̻͙̘͚͔͠e̸̝̱̻̤̮̗͎̍ͅl̷̪̪͉̅͊̓̽̾̅̋͝e̵̘͗̄̋̿͆̾̄͘r̴̩̪̀͗́̆ã̴̡̨̡͙̲̬͓̜̻̖̗͓̪͒t̷̲͋̑͗̀̅̽͛̍̎̏̎̕̚͠ǫ̴̟̬̖͖̳͓̩̤͖̭̥͇̓̑̇̇͌ͅr̶̢̡̨̧͎̻̞̟̘̗͔̾̀̃͊͒͐̃̔͑̇͝ ̷̨̧̛͇̜͚͔̣́͒̈́̃̾̐͝͝ͅm̷̡̢̰̲̝͔͕̘͚̯͑͆͂̀̇̒̄͐̈̔̽͗͘͜͜a̸̢̨̤̞̭̻̺̻̩͓̻̮̰̲͔̅̅̈́̒́̽͒̀ķ̴͔͍͕̥̮̦̹͙̞͇͖̗́́͒̂̀͌͒́̍̐̍̃͝ȩ̴̛̜̠͚̩̫̺̳̤̅̋̒́̏́̊̚̕̕s̴̼̻̙̖̺̩̼̹͓̝̄̌͑̿̈̆̋͌̑͜͜͝ ̶̧̙̫̱̫͙̳̰̹͍͒͋̇̃à̸̧̭͕̟͙͕̫̱͔͗͠ ̵̭̝͉̦̠͔͚͕̱͖͌̎̈́f̴̧̱̱̩̗̼̲͔̣͕͚̭̹͕̆̉̾͆̃̾̋̾͂ḯ̸̧̛͇̺̠͕̞̖̯̟͗̋̈́̂̓̆̈͊͑̀͝͠ņ̸̹͙̰͖̥̟̘̮̍͐ͅͅe̸̗̪̪̯͐̿̑͂́͐̑̀̋͂̀͒͝͠ ̴̢̪̼̖͉̱́̊̾̂́̑́̕p̸͉̆͘ų̶̡̗̭̠̲͎͎̗̪̰͚͋̍̆͊̀͊̐̚͠͝͠ṕ̴̰̖̖̗̥͓͓̦͙͉̹͌̀̇̊̏̂̐̑͐̍̈́̒p̸̣̈̀̇͋̕͝e̵̬̪͍̫͚͋̏̋̂̉̓́̀̍̅͘ţ̴̛͓͔̫̲͍̝̥̻̺̓̿́́̄̕͝,̵̖̺̍̌̉̅̃̈́̒̂̽̏̄̈̄͝ ̸̛̛̲̖̉͐̍͛̂̚͝͝͠b̵̙̪̎̉̉̀̚͠ȕ̴̢̧͙̣͕̻̝͈̹̜̬̮̂͒̈́̅̃͗̎͘ͅt̷̠̭̠̳̗̯͚̱͇̑͗̂̎̋̚͜͝͝ͅ ̷̢̢̛̛̝͉̱̪̗͋͛̂̋͒̀͊̀̑́͘͝ḻ̷̡̛̹̀͆ǐ̴̢͇̯͚̘̦̰̼͚̬̯͈̓͒̑̄̂̾̍͘ţ̷̭͔̼̣̮̤̤͉̰̮̗̇̆̓̀̅̀̉̅̓́̓͝t̸̡̩̠̫̱̗͎͙̥͇̞̪̜̊̚͝ḻ̴̽̉̿̓̆̎͑̊̽͠͝ḛ̵̗͓͇̃̎̌͛̍̉̐̾̏̆̐͝ ̵̨̠̥͍̟̪̱͔̞̭̖͚̱͑m̵̡͖͈͚̖͉͖̳͋͊̂̔̽̈̇̈͒͗̈́̀͘̚o̴̧͗r̸̬̣̝̲̈́̓̏̓̿̂̾̓̀̇̑̂e̸̪͉̫͖̞̔͐̓͗̀̓̀͆͗.̸̢̟͚̺̼̯͂͂̌̌͂̈́̄̂͐̑̅̿̕͠͠ͅ ̵͓̹̬̔͒̆̌͠Ą̸̨̧̛̟͙̝̙͈̖̏̈͆͗̔̐̈̌̑͘͜͜͝͝ͅs̶̛̟̯̰͊͌̒̆̐́͆͆̆̎̌͊ͅ ̴̡̛̺͙̜̘̻͈̜͈͚̺̘̜̭̒̂̂̀̂̿̋̐̈́̀̅̂͜w̶̢̪̭̦̱̗̾̌̆͊͂̈́͑̐͘͝͠ǎ̵̬͓̆̀͆̈́͆͂̽͊̑͂͝s̸̢͍̣̜̐̿͋̄̂̎́̾ ̴̧̧̻͈̜̝̯̤̝͙̗͒͗̀̈́̈́̓̒͜ą̴̨̨͎̜̘̈́̐l̷̯̰̤̈̕ͅͅẅ̴̧̡̢̖̟̙̜̫͉̹͍͔͓́̑͜à̷̡̤̆̓́̃̓͝ͅỹ̷̛̻̈́̈́͘͠ş̷͖̝̘̲͉̰̩̻͙̲͋͊̃̌͑͠ ̵̛̛̹̼̣͇̝̊̽̇̓͋̄̚̕̕t̷͙̲̪̖̹̬͕̙͎̓͠ͅh̷̡͙̮̺͎̻̱̟̖̪͉͎̼̎̍̆̎̉͜ͅè̸̡̧͙̱̩̖̮͔͇̗̘̭͉̤͕̎́̓͑̎̍͛͋̀͘͘ ̶̡̛̛̮͕̣̪̱̝̈́͆͌̍̈́̚͠͝c̷̢̢̰̮̉̋̈̋̓̐̐̀̽͊̿͗͌ả̷̼̲̝̗̘͈̎̑̂́̃͋̊͂͘͝ș̸̛̱̭̗̬͊̀͋̏͌̐̕e̵̛̺͍̔͛͛͒͂̽̏̑̈͝.̷̢̧̛͙̬̈́̐̾̈́̽̐̿̑̏͐"

"What the hell are you going on about? What the hell ARE YOU?"

Another step.

"You're going to regret coming anywhere near us," Kamijou Touma warned.

Accelerator's progress didn't halt, not for a moment.

"Ỵ̶̢̣̝̾̒̑̅̋̋͗̉̽͆̓͛͐͘̚ͅớ̷̛̲͖̈́̉͋̓u̸̟̺̍̋̈̂̇͒̐̂ ̷̢̧͎̗̩̼̬̳̯͊̊͂͗͂͜l̷̡̛̹̻̆͛͂o̸̢͉̔s̵̯͖̺̲͖̝̦͖̜̘͚̯̃̂̅̌̍̽͑̕̕ͅt̴̢̧̛̛̞͈̲̣̻͈͕̮̓̇̒̄̀̊̃͝͝͝ ̴̨̰̥̒͒͐͒͑̃͗̃̾̌͆̚̕͝e̴̦̙̥̞̙͉͇͔̖̣̝̦̓͊͊̑͌̎̀̈́̎̓͝͠v̴̛̙̩͈͚̉́̓̑̈́̅̕͝e̸̡̛̝̯͓̜̬̣̦̮͍͓̻͌́̃͐̆̀́̈̈̀͜ͅr̵̨̢̖͇̮̻͎̝͙̓̌͗̔́͑̓̈̀͠ẏ̶̧̖̯̩̥̣̟̟͇̣̲͗̔͗̌͂̌̉̽͊͝ţ̷̛̫̪̞̦̝̻̲̔̓̚͝h̴̟̔̾͌̉͋́͗̃̈́̃̊͛͠ī̴̮͋̄̽̆͝n̷̨̧͉̫̠͔͕̝̯͉͚̯̽̉̑̌g̸̖̖̬̞̝̬̞̃̂́̅̈̈͐̚̕͜.̶̼͇̩́̈́̊̈͋͋̍̚͝ ̴̧͙̲̜̲̬̭̺̫͓̅̾̇͒̒̅̎̑̐̉̍͂̀͝Á̵͎̾͗͆̈́̑̎̀̚s̴̨̡̛͍̜̲̣̳͉͑̔̈̂̕ ̵̛̣̈̉͂̿͆̀͌̀̍̿y̷̨̠͇͊̌̓̄̋͋̕ỏ̸̢̧̞̮͚͎̞̺̥̥̪̥̻͌̒̄̽̓͊͐͋̈͆́̓ù̶̞̃̀̿̀͗ ̵̢̭̝͂̓̅̆͘͠ạ̸̧̨̧̼̖̻͔̞̳̠̱̲̬͑̅̓̾̌͜͝l̵̨͚̼͖̤͈̼̘̮̯͆͂͊͐̎̿͐̄͑̑̽͜ͅẃ̴̡̡̧̳̪͇̤͈̞̬͉̙̳̜͂̽́͆̒̈́̒͗̔̅͜ą̵̡͙̖̺͎͓͚̫̣͂̉̔̽̈́̍́͂̊̔͗̎̚͝ý̴̢̡̞͇̝̗̙̞͈͕͇̊͊͑͘͝ś̶̱̠͉̹̮̱̰̼̯̉̔͂͛́̆̍̽̀͆̏̎͝ ̷̧̛̞̦̣̖̙̟̻̞̘̤͓͖̹̈́̌̑h̵͖̠̹̺͍̦͙̭͗̐͂̌̈́̊̿͗͑̍̀̽̚͝ȃ̴͔̬͚̤̳͚͈̥͋͛̓̈́̑͌̎̔͜v̵̦̯͎̩̹̎͗̋͊̾̃̌̑͗͒̿͛͒͝ȩ̵̰̟̰̖̞̳͓̱̰͖̏̌̈́͂̓̍͊͐͋͛̌͛̑̈͆ͅ.̷̢̦͔̜̗̼̝̻̘͔͍͔͇̓̐͗̾͌̔̐́̂́͛͂͐̆̓ ̷̮̗̆̉͌̆̄͐̽́̌̋͘A̷̧̡̛̫̣̺̲̬͉̯͂̓̕̚̚s̵̞̲͎̠̤͉͖̹̱̀̂͘ ̶̡̛͇̜͓̟̱̑̉̈́͝͝y̸͔̞̻̫̙̫̿̀̅͊̐̕ͅơ̶̗̈́̋̚ứ̸͉̖̉͊́̿͂̀̀̔̉̐̅̇̊ ̵̛̛̱̮̪̯̠̏͑̀̉̄͌͂̐̃̈́̇̄͜a̴̢̨̢̛͙͔̺̣̫͔̣͎̺̥̅̃̍́̎̀͆̎̕͘͝͝͝͝ͅļ̸̣͙̹̞̖̪̯̱̆̊͛̂w̶̢̛͇̘͖͕͇̱͙͑͛̑̇͒̋̒́̋̎̕͝͠ͅả̷̧̛̠̪͉͓͗͂̐͂͂͊͂̔̌̆͂̚͠y̶̳̖̠̙͖͖͕͇͍̩̪͎̩͈̽͑͛͊͘s̸̨̩͙͇͕͍̥̖̥̗͔̃͗͐̋̈́̈̽͌̆̃̏̿͛̆͜͜ ̸̜̗̱̯̙̙͐́̾͆͝w̷͓̹̟̋̾̓̆̓̂͠i̴̢̛̘̫̦͙͙͋̐̓̽̎͆̊͆̀͑͜͝͝l̷̹̦̈̃͛̓̾̓̈́͒̒͝͝ĺ̵̤̹͚̪̦̹̫͜.̷̡̜̜̗̜̏̀̊̈́͊͛͛̾͑̓̄̀̾̎͜͝ ̷̡̖͍͈͇̬̥̬̦̰̣͊͌́̐̀Ȳ̵̡̛̪͉͇̪̯͔̙͉̀́͗͛̅̃̄̒̾̚̕͝o̸̢̥̥̮̠̥̗̼͔̞̔͆̀̀̌̉͑ǘ̶̡̺͎̩̹̠̱̹r̷̢̢̳̙͍̠̺͖̯̗̙̾̏́̈́̔͝ ̶̢̤͒̍̃͠ê̵̹͉̭͈̦̩̤̬̏̑̈́͊̆̔̐̊͒̌̏̓͝x̸̧̗̹̲̭̯͎̗͓̰̙̝̔̀͑͒͑̚̕͘i̸̙͎̪͈͒̎̓̄̆̌̆̽͂͛̋̒͘͝s̸̢̢͚̤̪͇̬̱̦͑͋̌t̵̨̞̥̗̖̥̖͙̹̖͓̺͗̃̈̆̾̈́̇̃͒̚e̷̛̪͈͖̖̺̳̜͖̞͑̌̄̋̄̐̈̓͋̅̂̓̕̚n̸̨̖̟̖̩̪̪̯̭̘̄́̍̓͜c̷̱̠̈̓́̈̏̃͆̎̂͌̽̍̌͠͠e̷͈̟̔͋̀̑́̊̀͗͂͋͑̔ͅ ̵̧͓̗̟̟̝̱̮̯͍͔͓̝̯͖̄̽͛̚̚͝i̷̢̛̹̭̫̟͔͓̦̣̇̓̒͜͝ͅs̵̻̟̻͐͊̑̇͛̈̉̀̑́̾ ̶̧͕͙̣͚̭̠̔̊̈́͋̅͑̈́̈́̃̆͑̚̕̚͝p̸̯̎̾̓̋̇ǻ̴̼̩̤̲̾̈͑̓i̸̢̢̛̜̣̪̱͓͕̮̼͉͔̺͑̋̈́ͅn̴͕̿̆͂̑̋͝ͅ ̶͍̖̣̩̼̟̣̻̭̎͜ͅi̷͓̖̺͉̅̅̂͂ņ̵̡͙̞͍̱̲͕̱̦̻̱̩̃͋͑̆͝c̷̨̞̮̲̟̪̍̉͠ơ̸̟͓̳̤̞̏̓͋̑̊̉̚͠͠n̷̡̢̪͕̭̮̖̼͌͂̑̍̑͗͝ͅc̶̛̝̫̹͓̱͙̭̩͙͇͕̖̓͂̈́͐̐̋̍͋͐̉͊͜͜͝͠e̶̛̥̥̯͎̯̗̗͍̰̮͙̯̙̹͒̎͑͂̀͠i̴͈̰͇̩̞͝v̶̧͈͈̄a̷̢̖̻̓͋́͌͑̓̕͝͠b̵̧͓̠̯̗̰̙̣͑́l̶̖͔̮͙͓̱̭̈́̀̾͠͝e̵̗̰̥̱̤̤̲͈̮̮̯̻̜̘͚͂͒͐̄̇͋͑̍̉̒̃̾͋̀̐;̶̫̘̘̜̎ ̴̞̝̲͌͜͠ḯ̶̝̪̼̜͙̻̳̿́n̵̨͕͕͕̹̜͎͇̺̹̦̘͈̝͎͆̀͐̀̈́̅̄́̾̕͝ć̶̹̺̗̆́̄̕o̸͓͖̳̻͗̋͊̇͌̉͝n̶̡̨͍̲͇̩̙͕̖̬̫̊̄̿̐͠c̷̰̦̙̀̉̂̇͝è̷̳̺̻̤̥̂̔̊́̎͒̓͛̇̇̏̈͘͝ͅi̷̧̛̪͆̓̎͑̊͑̆̿̅̅̀̓͘͝v̷̛̮̼̲̻̞̯̜̙̫̹̓̈́̃̔̄̈̍̀̓͑͘͝ą̸̡̘̹̮̫̺͇̙̲̱͌̇̍̀̀̅͛́͌͛ͅb̷̛̖̟͈̉̃́̽̀́̐͂̈́̿̆͌͘͝l̶̢̧̛͇̬͈̼͓̭͙̫͖͗̀̾̍̅̂̋͒̆̂̕͠͝ͅē̸̞͓͉͚̫̫̋́͆̂ ̷̦̿̾̏̅͑̑͛́͌t̶̡͌̄̊ơ̴̡͈̹̮̠̪̰̗͈͔̥͙͙̆̔͗͆́͘̚̕ ̸̢̨̡͔̦̱͎͙͚̊͜a̵̡̧̛̜͓͚̮̜̙͎̥̻̗͉̯̱͗͑̄͆͗͂̌̄͊͂͑̎̕l̴̨̗̼̯̳͈̯͎̼͉̈́̈́̾̀̋̓͠͝l̷͈͈̰̅̀̀̋̓̈̀͛͑̚ ̷̧̻͍̻̦̯̭̠̙̟͈̼̖̑̇̎͜͜s̶̢̩͕̳̻̀͋̓̉̋͠ȁ̸̢̛̪͈̲͉͇̪̻̫̎̈́͑̑̋͂̅̚v̶̧̲̝̹̟̈́͌̃́̌̓̄͊͊̂̅͗̀e̵̹̬̿̃͒̈̎̽̂͆ ̸̧̖̞͈̯͈͎̺͇̲͑͌͊̄̑̐̊̍̋͆ͅü̶̳̺̝̉s̴̡̰̼͇̗̖̭͇̘̜̱̎̈́̋͘.̸͇͎̖͓̜͓͔̐́̄́̈̒̾͑͛͋̎͑̀̕͠ͅ ̷̖̣͔͍̰͓̼͖̯̙̈̚J̵̧̼̻̩̫͔͎̞̹͚̼̗̆̑͋̏ǫ̴̡̧͓̺̖̘͋̂͐͐̾̇̊̓͑͝i̷̡͎̻͎̻͖̎̃͘͘̚͝ͅņ̸̡̢̙̠̬̱̪͇͙́̆̈͐̂̇̚ ̵̛̛͔̹̝̣̜̻̗̘̩̲̄̌͂̈̌͗̇͌̽͂͋̕͝ṵ̸̧̡͍̲̟̜̼̞̼͓̝̭̣̹̐̈́́̈̈́̄̊͑̓̄̋͘͠ṣ̶̦͎̰̹̀̇̂̂̈́̑̏͂͂͂̄̈́͘ͅ,̶͍̹̖̞̈́͂ ̵̨̛̘̼̺̯͉̣̎̈̉̊̀̊͊̆̀́̓̀͜K̸͉͙̜̞͙̮̫̙̫̲̰̲͛͑̃̆̒̋͝a̴͚͍͙̖̝̣̾m̸̺̮͖̞̱̅̌̋͊͒̈͑̉̌̕̚̚͜͝͠͝i̴̧̡̛̛̝͇͔̲̍̈̈́̿̅͆͒͛̚j̵͇͍̰̥̻̣̬̪̐͌͂̍̒̉̇̉̇̐̈͋̇̚ͅŏ̴̳̜̽̇̆̒̓̄́́̾̾̏ư̵̮̰̯̺̲̼͓͋́̈̈́̔̃͝ ̶̢̮͚̙͚̻̠͍͌͐̊̈́̃̐͜T̴̩̭̻̿̀̂̆̓̎̅͌̿̐̋̏͘͝͠ǫ̴̯͕͈͚̹̼͓́̒͊̍̕u̵̫̙̱͎͛͘ṃ̵̦̯͍̖̲̳̦̬̺͛̈́a̴͙̠̻̤̫̯͕̔̽́̅̽̉̑͐̏̕ͅ.̶̩͈̦͈̯͖͇̟̜̀͐ ̴̨̫͇͍̹͇͇̪̘̆̈̋́͒̈́̄́̃̂̓̕̚͝F̶̛͓̳̺̫̃͑̓́̆͂́̃̏͂́͗͝͝o̷͕̞͛̍̿͂͒̽ļ̸̡̱̙͈͍͇̗̹̹̖̆̽̃̽͘ͅl̷̢̛̹͕̮̤̜̤̼̝̫̩̰̟̓̈́̿̕͝ǫ̸̼̣͉̰̬̬̼̟̣͓̉́͋́͛̌͂̓̿̚͜͠͝͝w̶̡̖͍͓͈͎̪̭̒̒̍̔̈́͋̋͂̔̄̋͑̐̔̏ ̸̩͚͎̣̙͎̓̌͊͋ÿ̸̛͍̬̳̗̘̤͎̗̞̼̰̝̖̙̎̅̽̊͝͠͝ͅơ̷̙̺͈̠͉̟̆̋̊̈̑̈́̀͆̔̃͒͋̚u̷̮̇̎͑̀̏̏́̑̒̒͑̓̕͝͝r̵̛̖̅̀̈́͗͒̄ͅ ̸̡͖̦̯̬̦͉̟̻͋̀͊̆ĩ̴͓̣̹̲͙̼̠̤ņ̷͓̞̝̤̭̮̞̻̘̆͂͆̏̆́̏͊̋̇̋̏͝͠͝ṣ̷̨͕͉̯̬̹̫͓̅̍t̸̢̙̩̖̪̬̭͎̳͚̀́̿̎̐̽̄͊̑͘͜͜͠͠i̵̞̻̙͍̐̈̐͂͂́͆͑̈́͑̋͛̚̚͝n̵̮͖̻̙͐̾̐̏̔̚c̵̢̡̡̥̹̪̠̪̘̹̠͗͂̄̂̿̔̅ṭ̸̢̮̘̲̟̫͖̦͎̈́̿̾́̌̂s̷͓͛̉͝ ̸̜̹͓̰͔͕̗̥͈̖̒̍̿̀̀̍̉̏̽͒͘͜t̸̛͕̟̪͈̞̳͈̜̘̘̗̜̀͗̍͘͝o̶͖̻̲͙̦͑͌͋͜ ̸̱̹͕͊͋̾̾́͗͊͒̊̋̄̓̅͘͝ų̸̣͍̭̩̹͆̄̍̈̈́̄̐̔͆̀̈s̵̫͚̙͍̜͋̎̍͆̋̄͂̈͠,̸̧̛͇̦͕̂̾́̐͒̇̈́̿̓͝ ̷͕̃̏͊̄͘̚t̶̡̪̦͉͎̜̱̰̃̅̽̐̈́̔̈̀h̵̛͚͍̹̗̙̫͕̲̻̩͖̝͉̜̑̉̾̾͂̎͑͘͘ȩ̶̠̞͕̝̱̯̳̲̫̥̑͜͝ ̶̹̼̥̀͌̆͋̌̇̀̿̈̅͘͝͝ͅͅF̴͓͓̥̞̌o̶͕͕͈͓̼̫̅͑̑͋̋̿̊͗̑͆̕͝͝r̶̨̯̼̳̼̬͇̞̮̻̝̜̪̍̃̾̒̾̍̂͠g̸̡̨͉͍͕͔͈̠̟̦̜͕̀̃͗̂̎̐̇̋̚͝ͅớ̶̜͙͙͇́̈́̀͋̿̅̀̈́̐͝͝t̶͉̮̪̦̍̇̾̿̑̒͌̉͝͠͝ṱ̵̛͕̜̼̱̟̻́̿̋͜ͅe̷̜̙̭̦̙̳̤̺̞̥͍͖͔̫͂̈́͐̉̉̎͊̿̀͑͐͛̔͗͝ǹ̴̮̀̽̊̑̉ ̵̨̡̭̠̙̱̱̫̭̲͂̏̈̐͋́͊̊̔Ơ̵̧̟̺̹̹͍̇̂͆̒́̽̅͛͑͒͛̀̚͝n̵͕͖̫̥̭̰͉̣̞͇̖̹͑̊̎̃̏͑͐̓̚ế̷͈̲̥̀͌̀̐̀ş̵̡̪͔͎̘̻̭̮͎̘̠͈̱̈́̑̋̔͛̎͆̋̀̕.̶̛̤̙̿̊́͑̈́̿̀̓͒͑̅͘̚͘ ̷̡̺̹͎̲̤̜̫͎̺̞̃̒̌͗̾̋͆̕ͅW̶̼͈̜̜͊͘͘i̵̢̛̥͙̱̖͓͓̲̮͙̹̭̒̎̅̊̆̓̑̀͐͜͝t̸̢̛̖̭̰̽̒́̊̃̓̌h̴̡̼̼̤͙̟̞͙͓̙͑́͒̌͠o̵̧̲̯͚̝̯̞̬̙̼͎̼͉͎̹͆̂̐̑u̵̟̯͇͚͙̻͇̠̎̔̽̿ͅt̶̪̖̱͎͉͍͍͔̥̾̍̎̇̋́́͆̋̅̈́̀͘͝͝ ̶̮̙͙̆̈̑͑̀͌̎̊͂͝͝͝ŭ̷̜̔̐͂̈͛͌͋̇̊͑s̴̪͐̓͆̋̔̕͝͝,̶̼̙̼̖̭̝̅̉̎̎̑̎̑͗͝ ̸̢̛̥̘̼̟̯͓̳̙̦̟̗̯̍͛̀̈́̈́̄͒̈́͋͐̓̕y̶̡͎̱̺̖̿́͐̀͌̐͐̀̑̍͛̐̚͝͝ơ̵͓̘̣̓͒̐̇̓̓͑̌͂̈́͋͘͘u̴͖͎̱̠̭͙̹̦̭̠̱̣̙̰͊́͑̏̆̐̑̐̑͗͊͑͐̂̚ ̵̛̜̜͉͖̍̆̐̒̎̾̏͑̃͐̇̌̅͝w̵͈͋̍i̷̡̱̞̬̟͎̣̬͖͈̔͂l̷̨͖̲̬̣̠̰̫͕̪͉̞͊͂͂͒̓̄́̚l̴̼̭͖̦̮̟̓͗͐̌͊͗͛̎́͋̚͝ ̴͚̏͌̇͛b̸͈͂̄̔̀̄̚e̶̯̥͛̌̀̿͐̒͑̊̀͑̾̈͠͝͠ ̴̬̀̓͛͐̒̒̎̓̃͂̚͠͝e̸̤̠̬̹̒̽̓͌̓͋̄͂́̄͆̂̄͆͝ͅņ̴͔̺̠͚̜͕͖̍t̸̻̻̘̻̍́̎͌̒̐̂͝ͅr̵͔͔͔͎̊̀̊̾̂͗̈́͘͜ą̴͈̮̞̖̗͓́͋̿̊̂̂̌̚p̵̼̟̻͂͑̈́̓͂̌͠p̴̛͍͍̖̜͎͇͉͂̃͂̅́̀̄͝ę̷̧̢̢̛̼̥̘̱͍̫̼̎̔̑̂̎ḍ̶̢̤̜̺̦̳͇̻͍̓͂͌͛̔̋̍̈́̂͘͠͠͠ ̶̛͎̯̖͓̞̼̖̀̈́̃̆̀̋̈̓̉͘͝͝i̴̡̥̘̟͌̈́͆̚͜ņ̷̛͕̭̥͙̱͈̰̿̂͗̈́̄͋͒͌͋̐̊̚͝͝ ̸̣̮͍̤̦̝̙͐͑̐̏̈́̌̑̚t̴̜̥̥̹̹͖͂͗̋ḩ̵̧̤̲̦͍͈̜̫̈̚͜ě̸̢̘̟̱̟̥̳̏͗͜ ̴̨̛͕̼͓̦̺͓̦̳̩͉͙̤̏͛̿̋̉̏̓̉ͅc̷̛̛̛͔͍̀̌͆̓̃̐͌̎̄̚͘̚ẏ̶͖̪́͊̀̈́̾͑͐͑̾̀̋̿̕c̷̼̦̬͖̭̝͍̖͚̒͂̀̇͛̒̎̚͘͝l̶͖̝̜͙͓͉͉͔̬͇̩̂ͅę̷̢͚̺̪̤̤̥̣̘̯̼̿̏̀̔̿̅͜.̵̨̜͔̣͕̭̻͇̙̜̓̈̋̅̀̇́͛͠ͅ ̶̡̨͈͉̤̻̮̜͙̋͗̆̀̔̎B̷̜̙̬̬̻̿́̇̃̊̄̉͒͂͊̕̚ǔ̴̺̠̭̋̀͑̄̚̚ț̷̱̱͖͔̹̬̙̞̻͙̺̋̃͋̈́͆̂̀̉͘͘,̸̧̧̬̞̘̰̣̼̞̩͑͋̒̂̓̋̃̓͑̕̕̕ ̵̧̦͈̥͙̪̞̹͙̝͔͋̄̿͒͠͝t̵̺̲͆̽͆̈́̅̾̈́̕ö̷̧̺͉̤͓̘͕̮́̈́̿̀̃͂̆͊͊̈́̂̽ģ̸̓̔͗́͝e̷̫͙̪̫̬̼̬̾̄͒̈́͆̓͂͆̚͝ͅͅt̶̨̨͙͖̲͎͔̤͙͈̙̤̗̆̉h̴̢̦̹̭̙̣̄e̴͔͈̞̰̓̆͆̄̚̕ͅr̷͓̠̼̳̲̮̋̅̅̒̽̽̔̊͜͝,̶̬͋̈́̀̈́̃ ̵̢͖͚̞̣̟͍̣̜̂̈̋͊̐́̂̀̒̋͝͝͝ẅ̵̢̢̢̠̦͖͉̫̖̦̝́̉͑̔͌ę̸̊̽̈͆̾̅̍̋̇͠ ̶͙̖̖̤̑̕͝c̶̬͓̪͕͙̬̳͎̹͇͔̮̄̍̊a̴̛̟͚̲̠͎͓̤͍̐́̈́́͆́̌̃̊̀̈́͠͠ṅ̴̼̉ ̷̛̼̹͔͊͛̊̈́͛̚͝b̸̧̦̱͙͉̙̼̩̠̈́́̋͐͑͘ŗ̸̫̪͕͙͂͗̂̀̚͜ͅë̷͚̣̪̰̼̂̇͌̌͊̉̒̅͊́̃̉̇͘å̸͍͎͍̤̬͚͗̀̒̓͑̋̀̓̆̃̃͑͊͝ḵ̴̡̠͖̮̬̮̝̎̽̀̚ ̷̖͙͉̦̳̲̮͇̥̮̅t̸̢̰̮̝͚̠̮̫̪̞̦̬͉̏̇̆̀̆̅̀͑͂̍͗̀̕ͅḩ̸̘̗̠̫̤͖̫̳̘͕̑͌͒̅͂̋̽̚ę̶̨̣̥͙̟̠͖̝͚̹̞͎͒̅̄́̏͛͛̀̓̀͝ ̷̢̛̼͓̻̘̹̗̤͍̓̄̌͐͐͝ͅͅc̷̭͇̞̫̘̟̳̫̫̃y̴̨̨̼͙̥͍̙̟̗̥̗̘͆̓c̷͚͖̳͈̊̔̀̃̀̕ͅl̵͓͍͈̪̝̝͙̎͆͛̂̂̓̾͘̚̕e̷̳͈̫̝͉̟̪̝͖̪̠̜̝̝̟̒͆.̴̢̗͕̤̮̳͚͎̗̗̳̺̭͍̒̃̀̊̋̔̍͘"

Kamijou Touma spoke no words in response, nor did Index.

"J̴̖̗̻̮̤̿ọ̸͎͈̜̖̤͎̟͚͔̮̈́̇̊̑͑̕̚͜i̵̜͈͚̲̝̺̯͎̝͕̋̀̉̆̀͌̂͋̽͘ͅṅ̶̡̢̛͓̪̘̩̥̤͈̘̜̙̯̦͑̾͂͝ ̷̞̰̣͖͉͚̪̜̜̻̉̍̎͒̍̈̈́̚͜͜u̷̞͚͌̈́̂̏́̈̒̈́͘͠s̷̜͖̮͎͉̳͇̥̠̏̌̀͒.̷̡̧͖̜̰̹̠̬̝̖͙̺̲́͑͗̾̆͋͛͛̇̓̑̈́͘.̴̗͓̋̄̓͋͌͝.̶̨̢̗͖̰̺̬̬͎̥̦̆͐̀̌̌͊̏̈́̆̂͒̈́̿"

With a shake of his head, no, Touma placed his hand on the little nun's shoulder. Its grip tightened, though not nearly enough to cause her any sort of discomfort.

Those maddening whispers. Those shrieking, horrific screams, like those of a completely deranged, psychotic serial killer flaying his newest victim. They mixed together, accompanied one another.

Kamijou's forcibly-ascended higher mind could not even begin to try and comprehend that which stood before him.

"I'm no better. Even after I figured out what was going on with you, even when you were knocked out, cold as ice, at the mercy of my right hand… I let you get out of there. I let you live. I saw Misaka's crying face, I heard her sobs, I felt her fucking… Pain… And I still let you live."

"Ṫ̶̨̨̙͍̬͕̘̰̤̠͇͙̯͙̈͛̃͝h̷͓͒͊̌̐̓̌͗̌͂̈́͝ê̷͙̞̥̭̠͍̪̳̤͔̏̽́̊̿̉ ̴̺͙͇̪̓̓̌h̶̢̲̯̮͇͚͓͓͔̬̭̳̳̽̈́̑̽̀̀̒̽̌͘͜͠͠u̴̧̫̤̤͖̬̯̺͔͎͋̀̓̃͊̑̍̅͆̍͐͝ͅm̴̻͉̺̩̘̱̬̼̋̈́a̴͔̘̩̫͓̜̦͔̣͊͆̀̚͜ń̶̡̨̢̲͔͈̱̙̥̀̔̓͗͂̓͘͝͝ ̴̢̹̩̹̺̜̝̣͙̹̠̟̔̇́̚͝y̷͙̬͇̯̦̗̬̘̰͖̠͓͌̾̓̂̀̐̈́̄̔͒̒̀̍͠ô̵̡̧̡̯̖̟̘͉̫̫̩̣̤͖̼ų̵̥̤̗͕͖͉̭̟̇̇̀̅͛̉̔͝͝͝ ̷̣͔̩̦̜͍̥̹̭͂̄k̴̥̦̘͚͈̞̯̼̏̈́ņ̵̥͔̀̅͐̏̍͊̿̆̓e̶̊͜w̶̧̼̻͎͔͇̎͛͌̽͒̓̽͊̄͐̅̾̈̇̕ ̷̛͍́̍̔̊̄̒̉͘̕̚͠͠͝͝î̵̡̠̱̙̦͚͙̘̜ś̶̡̩̯͕͍̯̬̩͉̯͓͂̈́͒̋̔̑̇̀͌̓́͝͝͝ ̷̨̧̮̩͉̘̖̻͕͍͙͙̠̞̍̌͗͌̅̈̅͜͝͝n̴̲̱͓͍̘̓̿̒͐̒̋̎̄͊̄̚̕͝͝o̴̠͇̅̎̈́̈̽͘͝͝͝͝͝ͅ ̸͎̯̣̠͇̠̙̘̙̽̈̄̔͆̓̈́̈́͛͘͜ͅĺ̸̪ọ̴̧̫̱͇͔̱̽͆̐̚͘͜͠n̶̡̛̛̝̥̜͆̑̓͂̿̔̃̕͘͝g̶̮̮͈̹͓̮̀͂̾̅̚e̸̻̺̞̻̩͚͕̭͒̎̓̓̔̈̾͘r̴̨͖̰̣͖͔͓͔̿̽̉̅̃̋̽͛̂̔̆̃͘͘͜ ̶̙̟̭͆̌̑̉̂̇̀͌̈́͗ͅͅp̷̡͎̪̫̻̬̩̻̠͈͊͂͠r̷̻͇͍̰͉̳̥̲̦̫̍ȩ̷̧͍̞̺͎͍̟͉͇̬̲̲͋͜ͅś̴̱̥̜̬̘̮̺̺̥̳ͅe̵̞̮̗̥̠̮̯͒͑̾͊̎̈́͛n̷̡̝̜̣͕̲͚̼̗̖̠͓͈̳̼̾̍͊̓͊̊̆̈́̈́ţ̷̪͉̰͙͎͕̍̽͊͊̄́͋̎͗͋̉͘͜͜.̶͙͙̱̋́ ̶̡͓̟̞͕̗͇̟̩͇̜̽͘ͅO̶̹͐͌̈͌̑n̴͉͉͖̦̓̍̈̀̋̒̋̾͝l̷̢̼̟̪̜̲̩̞͖͐̈́̾͊͑̃͛̕͜͝ŷ̶̗͈͓͛̎͑̕͘ ̶̨̨̢̡͎̜͎̙͌̇ͅu̴̢̝̓́͒̈́͊s̴̬̹̘̳͉̗̪̻͎͔͒̔̒̈͑̂̔̊͘ͅ.̵̹̽̉͑́̓"

"Who said you could talk? I'm talking, you pipe down while I'm talking. Step over me again and I'll make you regret it, ACCELERATOR! What sort of fucked up power did you reach out to, you sick piece of trash?!"

"T̵̢͉̠͖͙̳̻̹̘̠̠͍͌̐̎̀͊̓̍͜h̵͙͚̀̑͌͋͂̉̊͒̽̿̄͗̌̕ě̴̦͈̣́̌̿̈́͐͋͊̓̈͝͝͝ ̵̱͕͕̺̯̙̱̀͂̑̾̐̀̒̿͋̕͜͝A̴̘͎͙̖̐̌̀̈́ć̸̨̪͓̠͕̲͇̓̊̆͆͑͗̄̋̊͝͝c̶̛̛͚͖̎͊̓̽̐̑̀̐̓̚ḕ̵̦̘̝͍͖̫͈͈̼̰̹̙́̒̌̍̓̊͌l̷̢̨̨̳̬̺̻͖̣͚̐̔͗̽̾͊̈͂̈́̓͊̈́̏̕͠ę̵̨̢̘͇͍͔̬̫̀̃̔̇͂͊́̏̌͋̿̉͑̈́̕r̴̨̨̡̻̹̤̳̜̥̜̬̥̣͇̓̿̽͌̓̎͛̓ǎ̴̩̠̀͒͗ţ̵̨̝̻͖̲̘̭̬̖̳͘ͅö̸̧͍̤̅̾̊́r̶͎̳̻̮̫̊̈́̑̉ ̵̰͇͕̮̜͓̬͌̂͐̂̈́̒̔̉̃̕͝͠ḯ̶̧̢̱̗̙͍̦͖̣̘̌s̴̬̤͔̿͌̓ ̸̡̼͇͆̄͂̌͘n̶͈̪͛̉ǫ̴̢̛̛̩̼̹͔͓͚͘͝͝ ̷̡̧̰͓͍̟̻̣͔̾̓̉̾̚͜m̷̧̘̞̞͎͉̜̞̈́̄̓̚o̷̡̨̡̪̠̟̜͆̇̓̉̌̿̓́̓͘̕͜͝͠ͅŗ̶̬̰͍͇̻͙̝̠̳̤̰̰͕͋̉̆̇ė̴̬̰͚̦͚͍͖̦̱̿̒̔̅̕,̶͕̝̻̥̦̦͖̠͚̥͉̱̈́̉͂̇̂͛̋͛̽͜ ̷̨͍̭̣̝̗̹͓̱͉̟̫̑̑́̒̏̚̚͜͜͜Ṱ̶̢͉͗̿ơ̸͎̯͖̺͔̠̬͑̒͛̀̋͘ư̷̗͍̼̝̝̖̰̹̪̘̟̤̮͚̖̂͛́̈̈́̓͊̀̑̕͠m̴̨̹̘̬̞̗̊̂̇̿̎̏͒̃̚͠͠a̵̢̢̫͎̮͖͔̩͚͔͎̯͎̦̮̽́̒̔͋̅̑͝͝ ̵̧͙̜͓̰̰̝̰̏̈́̋̽̈̇͋̀̔̇̀̄̀͘K̵͙̠͈͓̲̖͉͋͐͐͑͐͒͗̃̂̂̇a̵̲̿̉̄͠͠m̴̙͐͐͊͑̉́͛̇̍̎̂͗̕̚͠i̴̹͓͆́̉̃͂̅͒͒̀̔̊͊j̵̓͗͆͊̑̔̐̈́ͅơ̸͔͈͎̙̟̜̟͑̌̆̉͊̃̂̉̃͊̌̈́́̕ư̴̗̣͚̫̭̞̭̗̥̬̋̀̏̿̽̕ͅ.̴̫͈̫̳͕̃̍̎̄̌̓̓̑̐̄͘͝ ̶͉̥̘̳̦̗̰̖̭̙̟̝̽̍̈̈́̾͂͌̅͗͘T̸̨̗̬͈̲̱̱̠̯̭̼͙̞͋̃͆͘͜ḥ̴̟̝̙̎ȇ̷̛̻̻͙̲̣̔̈́̃͜͜r̴̛̙̹̮̜͛̈͑̌͑͗̎̓͘͠e̷̛̮̽̐́̎̓͂͐̾̄͗̂̀͝ ̶̮̬͋͒̆́̀̌͊͌̈́͌̅̓̚͝ḯ̸̢̡̥̪͋̾̆͗̇͘͜s̵̢͓̱̲̼̮̼̩̟̮̹̱͎̈́̓̿́̓̔̕̕ͅ ̷̪͛̚ò̴̭͐̐̽̊̍͆̀̉̊͌̾̔͜͝ń̷̳̦̓̑͊͐l̷̮͗y̸̭̫̝̅͐͆̆̃̾͆̐͘͘͝͠͠͠ ̷͖̻̥̪͍̝̼̩̳͎͎͆̎̍͜ů̴͕͎̪̝̥̳̤͊̎́͂͑̃̎s̸̞̯̜̦̩̀̎̈̓͆̊̚̕͝.̵̘͙͓̭̖̤̬̥̩̀̎̌͒̏̎͒̅̀̑̾͂̆̇̕"

"I… oh… ohoho… heh. Eheheh."

Kamijou Touma stopped speaking, for a moment, yet even as his words ceased to flow, vocalizations continued to emerge.

His arms found their way upwards, outstretched towards the sky above, spread apart from one another. The vocalizations were produced were like something between a scream, a cackle that wouldn't have been out of place emerging from the lips of a witch, and a hysterical giggle.

Kamijou could barely hear himself think.

As the little nun seemed to stare at her 'keeper', he forcibly calmed himself.

"Don't look at me like that, Index. You know I'd never hurt you. I _love_ you."

"I love you too, Touma. We should really run away right now. You're strong, Touma, but you're not strong enough for _this_."

With a kiss to her forehead, Kamijou Touma moved in front of her, and stared down the number one strongest esper in Academy City, the Accelerator, he who could not be bested. Apparently.

"Just watch me prove you wrong, Index."

And yet, he'd been beaten to a pulp more than once. Such was the irony of the Accelerator's situation, an irony which Kamijou Touma proverbially drank like wine.

This _was_ Accelerator. Somehow, he'd returned from the dead. This was _him_. Whatever nonsense he was spouting, whatever magic tricks he was using to project his voice, Kamijou would get to the bottom of it.

"Index… do you know just how much I care about her? Is caring something you can really do? I have to wonder… or do you keep those Sisters, Last Order and Worst around, just to make yourself feel better? Just to make yourself feel like less of an animal?"

"Ť̷̼̘̱̣̹̘͓̂͝ͅh̴̨̡̢̬̳̜͚͔̰͎̪̰̩͔͌̀͑̇̀͘e̸̼͓͚̰̘̼͓̫͐͗̌̓͂̄̆́͛̀͌̈̈́̏̕ ̴̨̨̱͕͇̘̮̲̮̪̬̝̤̖͍̍̆̈́̊̀̀̋̋͋͛͒̓̒̚̚Î̸̲̱̣̯̹̅̇͑͒̆̒n̵̛̯̔̄̏̂̉̂͑̌ḍ̴̨̻̘̭͍̠͇̻̗̗̗̪̠̌̍̓̇̈́͛̋̄̾̎̃͗͘é̸̡̢̛̙̤͎̝͙̺̠̄̓͛̒̎̄͐̋̌̓͜͝͝ͅx̶͔̦̀̄̾̀̾͝ ̷͕͚̒͆̔̇L̴̞̦̻̰͈̖̲̍̈́͛͂̌̓̈́̋̀̓̀͘͜͠͝ͅͅi̵̢̨̧̧͕͔̙͕̭͕̟̬̺̫̒͗̉͌̇͝b̷̨̪͎̄͛̉̇͋̏̈ṙ̷͍̗̳̗̟͕͙͎̫̩̣̆̈́́̉́̊͝ô̷̥̮͆͛̅̊͑̿́͝͠ȓ̵̨̢̢̢̪̥͓͓̱̪̯͕͐̎̍̕ǘ̷̗͈̱̺̝̜̝̞͓̜̱m̸̡̧͎͉̝͖̖̣̥͖̖̲̑̅́̋̆́̅̚͝͠ ̵̨͍̲̯͕͉̟̆̊́͂ͅͅP̵̡̡̡̦͓̜̹̠̝̻̖̌͆͋͒͊̚͜ͅr̷͚̳͓͊̓͌͌̚ŏ̸̳̉̃̚h̸̡̛̦̐̀̾̌͑̉̇̈́̓̋͠í̵̩̗̈b̷̧̯̩̞̱͈̬̟̲̩̗͍̪̙̼͑̔̄́͝͠i̵̭͍͈̟̠͖͉͎̩̱̩̩̤̅͒̓̈̚͜t̵̡̢͚̪̰̼͈̫̦̬̪̀̊̐̚͝o̶̯̻̳͉͉̺̳̹̤̅̓͑̈́̑̈̎̑͋̄̉̒͆̕ͅṙ̶̢̨̛͈̙͚͕͇̠̼̠͎̻̠̎͝͝͠ǘ̴̹̟͌́̿͛͊̄̽̃m̴̩͔͈̫̼̦̮̐̒̐̾̓̓͒͗̃̔.̵̺͇̝̙̩͚͖̞͕̹̑̀̋̈́̽͜ ̷̙̯̻͉̭̠͎̤̜̠͙̽̋̔̀̐̓A̴̬͖͍͙͍̰̼̞̅̾́͘ ̶̢̛̞̬̙͉̦͖̯̪̲͚͕̖̊͌̽́̂͐̀̏̐̕m̵̢̧̨̢̛̫̠̟̣̈̾̓̂̒̃͂e̵̯̦͕̻̟͛͐̀̈́̈́̂̉̐͛̓̅̀͜͝ȃ̶̡̛̪͎̙̻͖̭͙̤̰͆́̂̀͋͊͐̇͜͠n̸̩͑̏̎̓̌͑͑̆̽i̷̧̧̬̭̦̱̲͌̇̍̇̉̂̐ṇ̴͈̥̯̼̫̫̗̞̺̑̓͒͒͂̇͛̾̕g̵̨̧̩̹̋́͋̓͝l̴̢̹̲̠̠̲̝̏̍̌̍̽̄͐̅̽̚͘͜͠͠e̴͎̩̩̲̯̦͛͌̈́̎͘̚͜͝ͅs̸̪̙̊̿͋̽͋s̴̱͑͒̈́̈́͑̃̎̊̇̔̾̂̀͘ ̸̝̝̩͋̏̉͊͑͋̓̓̀͘͝r̴̨̻̩̲̜̤̥̮̞̹̘̲̓̂͌̒͗̈́̿̓̏͌̚e̴̡̨̋̈́̿͑̀́ļ̵̪̘͇͖̖͕͉̬̞̱̹̦͒̇͌̿͂̅͐͊̾̈́̋̒͌́̚͜į̵͕͎͕͕͙̭̜̭̳̞̀̋͠c̴̡̳͈͓̀̈́̀̚͜͜͝.̷̼͎̣͓̜̮̹͉̝̞͔͈̋̀̉̍̈́̑̐̑͋͜͜͝ ̵̢͕̜͉͙͕̦̇̐͊̈́̅̈́͒̉͑̈́́̊͂̕Ẏ̶̢̬̠͖̫̜̟̮ͅͅǫ̶̛̬̬̯̺͓̠̲̦͉̻̹̌̅́̔̾̉̆̿̿̓͘͜͠͠͝ụ̴̟̊̎̕r̶̙͉͉̜͓̪̰̰̫̆̏͛̏́̀͛̋̏͝ͅ ̴̡̢̢͉̪̬̞̥̭͕̞̣̣̍̿̀͜ͅs̶͔̮͙̰̠̱̲͖̰͍͇͓̣̼̏͐́͐̓̆̕͘p̵̡͙͉̥̘̜̰͓̳͙̟̱̫͐̃̐̉́͛̄̀̕ͅȩ̸̛̫͉̥̟̩͆̓͋̎̈́͆̈́́͠c̸̢̝̣͚̣̗̯̲̯̐̊̑͐́̊̄͘͜ͅͅi̷̡̨̹̹̱͚̱̣̳̠̣̮̤͛̈́̍̓̈́̅̃̽̅̃͘͝ë̵̬̐̓́̑͊̚͝s̴̨̰̲̪͈̻̠͇̖̩͍̈̔́̏̈́̾͗̄̇̚͠ ̵̘̘̩̤̹̤̪́̀͜c̸̜͔̏̇̀̉̿̑̏̈̓̇̿̒̕å̶͓̜͔͆͆͊̈́̀̈́̌͊̀̎͌͒͠͝n̵̙̮͎̗͓͐̈̄ñ̶̨͉̠͙̖͙͉͕͚̜͆́̾o̷̼̬̲̥̞̖̱̣͓̘̳̒͜t̶̡̧̮͇̺͚̹̤̹̮̻͕́̌̀̅͒̈́̀̂͆͛͘ ̴͖͍̺̬͋̑é̵̡̨͇̹͕̥̬͍̻̬̟͂̒͋̆̈́͜v̶̭̟̌̆̇̈́͂͛͘͝e̷̢̳̱̟̪͚̫͔̙̿̓̒́͌̑̔̐̒͊̚͝ͅǹ̷̡̧͚̩̜͙̞̼̼͓̥̊͘ ̸̧̛̗̖̟̠̗͚͉̱̜̺͋̔̇̀̈̓͂̃̀͂͊͆̎̕͜ͅb̴̯̙̙̘̝̫̭̞͗̿͌͌́̀͠ę̸͈̤̗̘̰̱̥͕̤̹͕̒͐̒͌͐̿͗͌̽̉͝͠g̴̛̘̩͍̙͓̥̼̋̾̾́̈̾͝į̴̩̮̜̬͓͍̱̏̍͊͋̆̐͂̌̔͝ň̶̢̨̖͔͙̻̠̗̿́̃͆̏͐͝͝͝ ̵̱̠̰̬͚̬͂̔̅̀̚t̸͙̭͖͇͎̯̔̎̆̅̾́̓͐͆̕͝o̶̞̩̭͐̈̌́̐̽̚͘͝͝ ̴̱̼͖̣̖͚̗̐̇̕̕͝c̷̨̨̢̛̛͉̺͉͉̮͗͒̍̑̐̿̑̅̚͠o̴̧̨̯̮̲̹͉̠͔͉͉̗͆ͅń̴͓̰̗͚͕̘̜͛̔̒̑́̔̋͋̽̔͋̊̑̕ͅc̷̢̧̪̖̬̖̣̄̈̂͊̃̍̀̿̊͐̀́͌ͅẹ̶̣̓́́̇́̂͝͝i̵̡͚̫̙̤̩̮̜̻͔̩̖͛͑̆ͅv̷̯̲̐̾̑͂͘ȩ̵̟̦̞͖̥̱̰͍̅̀͠ ̵̤͍̼̠̪̗̱̠̘̥̪̔̒̽̈́̄͂́̏ȯ̶̢͉̻̻͇̭̻͓̬͓̿̉̐̓̑͒̐͘͠͠f̵̢̢̢̣̣͚̪̮̺͙͔̣̳̑̒̐̓̈́̈͛̆̿̊͑ ̴͉͕̐̓̍̿̉͑͗̆́͗̍̉̕u̶͈͖̙͕͖͋̃̕͝s̴̩̄͌̈́̽̍.̶̨͚͙̣̓̃̂͛͂̔̃̍̈́̒͝ ̷̹̟̦͂̌̑̀͂̈́̚͝͝ͅY̴̥̗̒̋͋̈́̈͒͒͂͌͒͆̌̕ơ̷̢͕͈̗̜͕̲̟̤̠̞̭̆͑̏̅̾̓̒́̋͘̕ǘ̷̺̦̹̗͔̥̖͉̯́̎̃̀̍̂͒͂̆̅͝r̵̢̢̛͈͎͕͈̤̙̼͚͌͂͌͛͋ ̷̖̲͉̼̲̭̗̥̪̈͊̽̊̾̔̿̉̓̄̃͌͌̕̕ŝ̵̛̪̣̣͕̘̪̖͉̰̋͆̐͝ͅę̸͖̘̦̤̯̯̣̻͈͎̬͓̫͌͒̎̊̚ͅn̸͉͍͙̭͙̟̫͒̊͊͗̉͊͆̓̐̚̚͝͠t̵̙̣̤̖͔̜̦͓̠̑͛̆͋̃͜į̵̛͊̑̍̏̄̒̈m̶̢̩̈̔̔̃͆͐̾̚ę̸̢̛̛͕̜̳̩͇̦̳̲̹̐̈̌̃̋̉͛̎̌ͅǹ̸̝̘͚̻͜t̴̡̛̥̹͍̖̻͙̀͐͌͌̓̽͒͋͒̇͆̉͌͂ą̶̨̢̙̗̘̦̟̥̮̹̳̻̼̞̏̀̔́̎̂̒̀̔̃̌̽̂̀̚l̴̨̛̬͇̰̜͆͛̀̄̀̌͒̾̈́̇͝ī̸̯͚̭̉̇̎̍s̶̘̫͓͓̹̼̯̟̮͇͎͙͎̲̍͒̆̽̑ṃ̸̦͈͙͔̳̹̫̜͖͋̂̐́̀͌̑͋͆̈̔̓̀ ̵̧̛̯̺̦͚̣̙͉̳̦̮̤̟͉̇͒̂̒̿̂̍̚̚f̴͖̩̺̟͍̮̩̙̻̱͗̈͌͊ä̵̡͈̫̱̻̹̩͇̭̝̤͖̗͍́͂͌̚͜i̸̱̻̹̎̒͆͝͝ͅl̸̡̼͇͕̼̦͆̓́̔̐͘͠ŝ̸̠̩̬͙̠̘̭̠̬̘̜̦̘̪̚͜ ̸̨̢̠̳̟̞͚̱̮̱͎͓͕̣̆̈́̊̋̅͛̏̀ͅy̷̨̛̤̟͍̩̬͎̫͇̟̎͐̉͒ͅͅơ̸̢̮͙͔͒̒̓̈́̔ͅų̷̞͈̮̣͆̚͜ͅͅ.̸̻̘͍̬͎̰̫̙̲̳̒͠ ̴̡̧̨̻̹̝̠̓̔́͑̏́Ỳ̷̺͈̭͓̫͎̘̮̮̺͎̬̩̺̓̎͂̕͜ơ̵̬̮̘͚̜͇͚̮͗̽̏̃͂ṷ̷͓̥̼̣̯̱̘͉̺̬̩̻̣̈́͐͊̂͆͗̓͂̉̍̇̑͜ ̵̡̮̙͙͎̫͔̩̖͙̉͋̃̀̿̊͐̍̎̔̔̆̔̕͜͠w̸̢͕̱̱̩͚̙͖̤̜̬̿͆͑̌̎͐̏̈́̈̍͗̓͝͝ḯ̵̡̡͙͔̙̺̬͚̮̱͎̣̋̎̾l̸̢̰̱͍̹̲͍̳͉͕̭̖̏́͒͂̏̌̾̓̅̈̈̚͝͝ĺ̵̡͔͙͇̩̼̼̇̊̒ ̴̨̰̯̜̼̙̙̘̯͓̳̥͎̲͚͛̾̋̅̃̊͊͠͝f̵̛̗̹̭̬̩̤̤͚͙͛͒̋͌͒̈́͘͜ǎ̸̡̢̛͔͉͚̩͚̺͙͇͙͓̝̑̊͂̍̈́͊̈́̊͘į̶̗͖̰̩̝̔͛̏͌͑̈́͑̂̅̈́̕l̸̨͚̺̲̟͖͍̹͂̍̋̒̾͑̏́͐̐̍̚͠ ̷̗͍̼̦̫͈̙͖͑̊̋̍̀͒ͅh̴̡̨̙̩̘̜̼̯̣͕͚̅̐͑͘é̸̯̃̄̑̀̃͑̎͗̍͘͘͠r̸͍͂̓̂.̷̢̧̯͕̣̩̝͛̀͝ ̷͓̺͕͗̈́̅̆̉͗S̶̢̛̪̬̦̹̫͕͔̞̝̪̈́̃̔̑̂́͊̽̏̔̔̚͘͝ḩ̴̨͓̠͓̼̼͚̣̺͎̙̅̇̌͌͊̈́̅̽̈́̀́̽ͅe̴̤͛̈́̑̈́̿ ̴̰̠͈̦̑̍͜w̵̞̘͈̿͋̂î̶̭̮̜̣͓͉̬̭͕̹̎͌l̴̛͙̲̟͓̩̦̻͓̐̓̀̔̇̇̒̉̊͘͘͠͝l̴͎̠̩͕͈͗̏͋̒̊͛̔̀̎̄̀̔̀̆ ̵̰̯̦͑̌̒͠d̷̨̩͚̲͙͚͎̲̬̺̦͕͚̜̉̕͜i̴̛̛̜͍̦̼͚̳͒̈̒͐̑̕͝͝ę̷͙̺̞͔͚̪̞̗̜̩̳̬̟̓̽̏̂͂.̶̨̯̮̣̫̝̟̙̪͇͕̻́͑͊̓̒̀́̄̓̂͗͌͜͝ ̷̙̲̿͋̊̇̕Ỷ̷̭̤̭̫̋́̄̉̃͐̊̽͝͝ȏ̵̢̳̣̹̼̰̪̞̝͇̮̱̘̂́̈́̇̀͌́̄͆͒̅̓͛̕ͅū̷̡̞̱̬͔̺̦͠ ̶̘̯͓̦̓w̸̱̃̉͒̊͆̃͂̄͛͒͊͛̀̚͠i̵̡̘̗͍͕̠͝ͅl̷̢̥͉̯̱̟̪͉͙̦͖͔̣̋̽̆͌̾̏͝l̷̨̟͕̼͚͚͉̻̟͎̙̬͔̂͊̌̐͐̋͘͘͝͠͝͝ ̷̢͕̪̠͉̟̤̿̈́̃͒́b̸͔͚̜̪͓̄̍̐̌̀̒̑̚̚e̶͓͎͋̎́͆̈́̈́̇̏̎͛̐̀̀͝ ̶̡̡̬͖̣͎̫͈͍̭̻͌̂͐̋̎̓̕͜͝ͅr̶̡̧̮̬̝̞̻̱̬̫̲̳̦͒͗̇e̶̢̡̢͇̙̝̺̾̍͋̌͑͗̀̀̂̚̚͜͠ͅs̷̢̛͇͓͔͕̖̩̹̣̳͇̰͖̭͐̃̓̑̎́̈́͛̄̐̒̋p̶̡̡̺̜̍͌̿͋̊͋̄́͐̒̀͐̇̏͘ͅo̴̫̣̦̲̣̎̃n̴͉̪͈͇̙̎̇̊̈̔̓̏͊̈́̈́̈́̋̇̓̏ś̴̡̢̮͖̞͚̘̝̳̗̻̠͕͊̾̈̈́̊̿͊͐̅͆͝i̷̗͇̿̏b̸͖̫̽̐͆̒͆̏̀̔̕͠l̸̡̠̫̣̱̠̦̺̄e̵̺̦̺̓̐͐̌̌̑͂͋͑̓͂͝͠.̷̨̡̧͇̟͚̹͚̱̻̮̦͍́́̇̀͊̍̕ ̷̨̧̛̩̳̾̊͐̾̆̃̃̚͝͝͝͝͝J̶̗̺̻̜͍̯̺̥̫̞̋́̇̋̋͗̔̊̑̐̔́o̷̡̨̨̠̙̰͙̰̞̭̯͌͌̉̀̃̾̓͆̓͐͑͗͜ͅi̷̡̢̢̙͔̙͉̫̥̜̣̟͈̟͊̎̐̀͒ň̶̮̲͙̲̒̾̀͝ͅͅ ̷̝͖̝̲͑̒͆̔̃͑͗̂͗́̄̚͘͜͝ư̷̤̄͛̀̏̇̿̀̑̿͑͊̐̈͛s̷̳̰̯͈̝̟̞̰̞͓̤̱̎͌ͅ.̵̩̰̱͍̥̞̤̰͍͕̱̗̘͒̇͊́͐̒̽̆͜"

For a moment, Kamijou Touma reeled, a display of mock-fear performed swiftly, with very little concern for the feelings of the strongest esper in Academy City.

"And who's going to kill her, huh? You? I don't fucking think so! I don't care how many pieces I'll have to cut you into! I'll end this, I'll end YOU!"

The awkward, crooked half-grin that'd formed on his face dissipated, vanishing.

"I'd tear Academy City apart with my bare hands for her. I'd rip that building without windows right out of the ground, and I'd throw it into orbit, all Index would have to do is ask me to do exactly that, and I'd do it. I have a lot of unfinished business, actually, a lot of loose ends I need to tie up…"

Accelerator raised an eyebrow; Kamijou Touma responded by extending his arms outwards, and almost suggestively nodding.

"Oriana Thomson, I'm cool with. Those God's Right Seat motherfuckers, though? Not quite. Plus, I've got a whoopin' in store, for whoever it was that fucked with Index's head and made her memorize all these evil books… I'll make their death especially prolonged. Maybe stick 'em with a diseased needle or two, watch the bacteria take them… boohoo… Accelerator, I've got _so_ much work ahead of me."

"I̵͖͉̟̳̜̼̹͈̎̍̍͗͊͂̆̀͋̉̀̈̔̏͘ͅm̴̺̞͔̦͖̮͔͕͉̒ͅp̶͇̼̹̺̥̻̯̝̦͓̥̤͐̊̿ͅr̵̲͔̲̝͕̂̾̒͒͑̆̊̀͋̂̌̚͜͠͝ȩ̸̦̱̼̣͚̦͑͆ş̴̝̫̪̲̣̮̤̰͕̫͍͊͑̒͛̐́̈́̓͠s̴̻̅̓̓i̵̧̢̨̗̲̻͇̥̣̰͂̾͋̿̾̅͝͝v̶̫̰͍̼̤̤͔̖̬̒͒͘ė̴͙͇̩̟͙̖̯͓̫̥̩̗̥̗̽̅́̌̈́̎́͂̉͛̕̚͜͝.̴̤͎͈̓͑͌̍̆̀́̒̉̎͘̚͝͠ ̵̛̛̹̜̺̈̔̏̾̽͋̆̓̾̊͛̌͠L̷̡̢̻̝͉̩̻̝̜̫̳̺̲̍̄̊̀͐̈́͂͑̇̉̑̇͘̚͝ͅȩ̶̣̫͉̰̠̥̳̮̖̝͍̥̦͙̇͆̏̐̅̾͆̌̓t̶̨̘̲̯̖̙̰̅̈́͆͊́̊͊͝ ̴̟̻̝̰̖͔̭̹̮̮͎̃ͅͅý̵̙̽̀̃̽̊̃ơ̴͚̺̩̖͍̦̰͈̱̭̋͆̄̈́̉͗̾̈́̿̀͘u̶̢̧̮̖̪̳̥̓͆͊ŗ̸̛̛̖̤̳̯̜̱̗̼͎̱̻̱̑͑̉̏͛̄̒̌̋̈́́͜͝ ̵͉̣͔̮̫̜͇̼͈̱̜̄͌̉̊͌͌̀̕r̵̪͆͛͊͐̀̑̀̈͑͛̇͘̕̚͝ả̶̧͙̖̲̟̻͎͎̈͋͗͋̃͜g̵̛͙̩̼͖̗͉̊̍̿́̀͜ẽ̸̢̠̰̗͇͙̗̰͉̱̰̩ͅ ̸̢̫͙̘͖̫̟̣̜͚̘̋̃́̊̋̂̈́̾̎̊̒̕͝ṫ̸̢̼̦̞̫̱͇̩͉̗͙à̴̺͓͙̼͈̩̝͔̳͉͙̫͓̃k̸͇͉̬̯̳͚̤͕͛̾̐̑̐̍̎̚e̵̗͌̆ ̵̦̯̗͍̜̰̝̯̗̳͔̤̣̖͍̓͂͠y̸̰̫͚̘̭͊͑ò̸̢̞͈̠͚̎͐̋̌̀̈́̇̑̽͜ú̷̯̩̂͘.̷̨̲̤̤͈̜̻͎̩͇̳̥͂̌̍̓͜"

"So much business I left unfinished! Pieces of shit, just like you, living when you should all be sharing a dirty, unmarked grave! Digging a hole for these pricks, it's got me thinking… Y'know? It's really got the old juices flowing. I'm just RARING to go here! I can almost TASTE it! The desire! I _want_ to kill you again!"

As if it was wracked by the tremors of an earthquake, bubbling deep beneath its crust, the very earth beneath Accelerator shattered, and was tossed up around him, chunks of the stuff, mud, grass and torn sections of roots fluttering about, lacking any goal. It fluttered over his head, and soon found its way back to the ground, pulled by the force of gravity.

Accelerator was off. Following the explosion, he darted forward at an incredible speed, beyond that which could be properly observed by the likes of Index, a mere human being.

Kamijou Touma observed every movement, every twitch of every vein in Accelerator's dead expression. Kamijou too had rushed forward, tearing apart the innocent earth beneath him, nanorobotic legs allowing him to achieve near-Saintly speed. Index, the girl who'd memorized well over one hundred thousand Grimoires took a step back, but didn't falter for even a moment. Having become a bystander, she watched on.

The distance between them was closed.

"It takes a monster to kill a monster! Let's make like titans, Accelerator, and CLASH! Into the dirt with you!"

"Y̴͔̦̫̺̘͌̍́̅̐̂͝ò̷̢̨̮̤̰͉͕͕͚͚̞̞̮̰͋͋͐̅̈́̈́̂́̀̾̕̕ͅu̴͙̩̮̣͔͉͖̘͈̫̮̞̥̇̓̊̓̎̈́͗̄͆̃̾͑͠ ̵̥͊͐̔̄̌͊͆͑̚͘͝w̵̡͇̰̥̘̝̹̪̩̒͌̅̍͜͠͠ĩ̶̡̡̨̠͚̠͉̤̹͌́̾̄̋̈̓̂͌̚͘͘͠͠l̵̛̝̭͕̖̼̥͙̋͂͐̇̋̒̇͑͒͊́͐̆̚͜l̵̞̎̎̀́̀̄͘͠͝ ̶̨̏̿b̷̨̨̖͖̦͈̼̳̩̯̥̂͠e̷̗̼͍̟̟̻͓̳̟͇̳̺̅͝͠ ̵̢͈̞͖͓̖̫̀ͅǫ̶̭̥͖̯͇̪̖̺̲̝͉̣̳̈́̉͛́̄̆̓͐u̸̧̧̲̩̠̖̞͙̳̞̼̜̖̲̐̾̑͛̀͑̍̈̈́̑͜͠͝͠ŗ̶̢̨̱̜͖͉̘̠̞̠̘̩͙̺̉̀̓̿̃̋͊̆̀̚̕s̶̺͎͉̣̙̯̳̬̟͓̮̦̗̝͒͌͒͂̑̀͊́̋́͑͝,̴̡̫̓̒̏̊͒̒̕͝ ̶̡̡̡͔͔̘̱̖̟͍͕̰̫͍̽͜s̶̢̬̥͙̠̤̯̽̐̓̈́͝ͅǫ̴͕̠̙̠̥̦̲͙̩͓͉̑̓̇̆̿͒̈̇̽̕͘ǫ̴̡͉̪̗̪̹̔͛̏̎̇͊̂͑̆̒̈̇͘͝ͅņ̶̰͚̦͉͇͍̼̼̣̊̋̈́̐̃̓̃̿͂̿̉."

That idiotic old man had created a living weapon, one which could control its own actions, its own destiny.

The left hand was thrown outward, reckless abandon initiated. There weren't enough weapons in the world to kill him, there was nothing powerful enough, no force, no element.

Clenching it into a fist, the left hand, not the right slammed into the side of the Accelerator's face.

His cheek grew exponentially, expanding, his flesh struggling to make room for the massive object that had painfully crashed against it. Kamijou Touma's knuckles scraped against the cheekbone beneath, and nearly forced the eyeballs of the number one strongest esper to bulge from their sockets.

The forceful blow came, one which rattled the shredded brain of the number one strongest esper within the confines of his skull.

Accelerator's jaw was violently knocked to one side, nearly dislocated completely as the impact came and went. Globules of blood flowed like tears, merely of instinct down the cheeks of the strongest esper in all of Academy City.

A blow to his gut brought him to the ground. He uttered a pathetic gasp before his body crashed, tumbling.

All the while, Kamijou Touma shrieked in mad laughter, like something out of a nightmare, like some creeping horror who knew no sanity.

"If I could kill you, over ten thousand times… I'd do just that! Maybe I can… Or maybe I can't. Maybe you only have two lives, Accelerator. That would just suck. It's okay, we'll make the best of the moment, won't we? Must be hard… Being knocked around like this, again. You think you're on top, and then… Suddenly, you're on the bottom. Y'know, that could've come out better, but you get my point."

Accelerator forcibly jerked up at unnatural speeds. His spine was torn from his very back by the sheer velocity. It was as if Accelerator was merely a toy, lifted from the ground without tact by an overexcited child. As if he'd been 'helped' up, the air behind him forced him to his feet, and then coalesced above him. He rose from the earth itself, blood dripping from his nostrils, steadily flowing like the dying remnants of a waterfall in a land plagued by drought.

Then, he dove downwards.

The Accelerator reached out, fingertips touching the skin of Kamijou Touma, who merely responded by delivering a vicious kick directly to the face of the number one strongest esper.

A single, blackened speck of _something_ formed there, upon Kamijou Touma's machine phase-matter resin, that which his immortal, forcibly-ascended form consisted of. That blotch, no larger than a spot of dead pixels upon a computer's monitor did not expand and did not grow. It merely clung there.

With haste Kamijou's right hand shifted, machine-phase matter spiralling and extending outward, forming a sharpened blade similar in shape and design to a medieval pike's head.

"You know what, Accelerator? You _fucking_ know what? Really, this is all my fault… I had three chances! That switchyard, Eastern Europe, then Denmark… I had three chances to leave your corpse to moulder, and I didn't take 'em. This one's on me! Now, though… now I'm cleaning up my messes. I'll keep killing you! I'll never stop making you pay! **NEVER**!"

Then, from his back, rows of machine-phase matter were ejected, soon taking the form of four enormous, shifting wings. Nanorobotic units, billions, they buzzed about, swarming.

The Accelerator did not react. Further, malformed, twisted limbs began to jut from the corpse, that which Touma refused to recognize as a corpse being puppeteered by powers beyond humanity's scope of imagination.

"It's over, Accelerator… Your homicidal, gore-stained legacy ends here, with me, and your blood staining the grass. AGAIN! Grit your teeth, strongest, because… Eh-eh… Eh-eh… Hehehe! Because I'm STRONGER!"

Wings of machine-phase matter beat against the air, flapping and causing great commotion below; the grass flowed beneath the oxygenated air, pushed downwards and forced below the enormous, machine-phase matter protrusions.

Obviously, Tsuchimikado had been right about one thing – somehow, some of the Accelerator's memories in his dead, sundered brain remained capable of being accessed - that damnable hero _was_ different. He was hardly the creature he'd once been. Hardly at all; just what "Kamijou Touma" had become was unclear to the Accelerator's partially-resurrected, yet paradoxically perpetually-dying brain. An angel? Some sort of synthetic angel, a malformed creation of scientific origin? Perhaps he wasn't even the original hero. Perhaps, that hero had well and truly died.

Perhaps this was a replacement? A clone?

God, no, anything but a clone.

Pondering would accomplish nothing, and get him nowhere. There was but one option, one solution; a One-Way Road.

More wings. Pitch-black, covered in those eyes which leaked hideous, bubbling, orange-white pus from between their thick, fleshy lids. Covered in hideous, misshapen limbs and gaping, monstrous maws that screamed silently as if tortured.

That which remained of the Accelerator's personality was silenced once more by the forces that pulled his proverbial strings.

He, Kamijou Touma, the hero, the Savior of the Misaka Network, he _disintegrated_. He fell apart, becoming a swarming, buzzing mass of nanomachines. Whatever it was, it lacked a cohesive shape.

With swiftness never seen before by the likes of the Accelerator, the great mass rose like it was some featureless, amorphous super-organism and surged, moving behind its foe.

Reforming behind Accelerator, Kamijou Touma forced his blade-hand outwards, just as the first-ranked level five esper managed to turn himself around. Upwards, and then upwards, in a curved arc.

Within the span of a millisecond, a mere fraction of a moment before Kamijou Touma's bladed extremity collided with Accelerator's corpse.

Slicing upwards, there was indeed the gritting of teeth, the biting of a tongue and the restraining of an anguished scream, threatening to tear itself from the throat of Academy City's strongest. Flesh was parted. Bone matter was ripped effortlessly, the blade of machine-phase matter slicing through, like scissors parting a sheet of paper in two.

The Accelerator's only remaining arm, ripped. It was separated entirely from its torso. Tendons dangling like the tendrils of a squid fell away from his torso and to the ground below, where it came to rest, the digits of its hand twitching.

But that wasn't the extent of what occurred. Hardly.

Accelerator's corpse looked onward, his head lowered. A great, toothy grin had stretched across his face; blood did pour from the stump that remained where his right arm had once been.

Aloud, the strongest esper screamed a truly hellish vocalization. High-pitched and seemingly without end, Accelerator howled like some feral animal, head tossed back, remaining arm outstretched.

Millions of screams. Billions of screams. It was unlike anything Kamijou Touma and Index had ever heard. It was a sound that was heard all throughout reality.

As he moved, there was a blinding, pitch-dark cloud of hellish obstruction that emanated, both around, and from within him, paradoxically glowing as bright, or perhaps even brighter than the visible sun situated in the sky.

They were forcibly ejected from his back, as if they'd been stored within the entire time, like they'd simply been waiting for the chance to emerge, and be free.

Even more wings.

The Accelerator's arm-less corpse was reduced to a mountain of shifting flesh, misshapen, deformed limbs, blinking, crusted, pus-filled eyes, snapping maws, and pitch-dark wings. Something from the nightmares of the Genius Author, he who dreamed into existence the likes of Cthulhu.

As much fiction did, the likes of Cthulhu, the creation of the Genius Author had taken inspiration from a fundamental aspect of reality.

A fundamental aspect of reality which Kamijou Touma and the little silver-haired nun faced together.

"TOU-MA! You're not fighting _him_! You're fighting the **Old Gods**! TOUMA! YOU CAN'T WIN THIS FIGHT! N-NO ONE CAN! TOU-MAAAAA! We have to **run**!"

Power beyond all mortals save those who sold their very souls for unspeakable power was harnessed by the corpse of an esper born of science.

From the back of the Accelerator, the strongest esper not only in Academy City, but in the world, two great winged protrusions like those of a bat formed of the Void emerged. Fleshy, partially torn and each easily twenty feet in width, these were accented by a crooked, pointed halo which floated over the Accelerator's head. From the thing, purple-blue 'magma' oozed and dripped freely, and from the centre of the halo, globs of the stuff were ejected. It spun around the crown of Accelerator's head, orbiting it like the world's moon orbited the planet that had become Kamijou Touma's battleground once again.

For the first time, Kamijou Touma seemed to hesitate. His hands, left and right became no more, descending into two streams of machine-phase matter, which hastily formed into two elongated blade, existing where hands should've been.

"▓▒▒░░ ▓▒▒░░ ▓▒▒░░▓▒▒░░ ▓▒▒░░! W̸̛̙͍̞͎̠͇̻̼̤̜̰̩͋̏͊̑͘Ě̵̠͉͔̤͎̜͚͔́͐̉̅̐͑͊̓͑̀͆͠͠ ̷̢̻͙̼̰̰̰̱̱̘̟̭̦͆̈́̈́̾̓͐͘̕Ą̸͖̰̼̬̼̄͌̈͆̇R̷̢̤͎͙̲̼͎̤̗̖̻̉̎̌̐͂̎̈̈̉́̈́̚͜͠͝Ë̴̼̮̜͍̼̩̲̬̙̮̼̭͕̝̹́͌̽̔̔̾̆͛̽͂̌͒̑͘͝ ̷̥͚̗̝̬̻͇̦̪͉̻͓̬̞͛͋͑̿͊̉͌̌̓̽͊̈́̚͝T̶̘̞̠̪̺̫̼̬̏̑͊͛͒͋͊͘͠ͅH̵̭̥̮̳͂̂͆̓͑̊̊̈́̑̕̕͠Ę̷̞̻̥͙̮̹̺̭͚̫̣̔̄̓̀̃̈́ͅ ̶̧̧̧̘͕̯͚̱̭͔̖̺͕̏̊́̃͗̿͌̎̿͒̕͜͝͝ͅL̸̥̗̻̥̪͍̆Ư̷̲̬̞͉͔̾͌̽̔̒̐̾̏̊̆̒̀̎̎C̸̢̘͎̻͚̫̭̙͓̜̜͋̃̊́̏̔͊͝͠Ì̵͎̋̓͒̎͘̕͘͠D̴̡̪̹̙̞̜͇̲͖̉̽̈́̈́̌́̓͝ͅ ̴͉̰͙̱̱̿̈́̄͌̀͋̎͗͐̐͝Ḓ̴̭͎̖̫̟̺̺̘̖͍̼̐̏̊̈́͊̎͊̿͗̀͐͜͝͝͝͠ͅͅŖ̶̨̛͙̲̪̝͉͚̙̩͔̠̲̀͐̈́̈́͊̽̾̅͠È̵̡̛̝̗̖̺̠̤̜̪̭̗̹̋̈́̄̈́̄͘A̸̺̭̼͛́̆͑͆̐͛́̿̑̑͋͠M̸̧̘̜͚̝̯͛̊̓̆́́!̵̨̫̞̮͔̲̣̥̒̆͋̐͘͘̕͜ͅͅ ̵͖̬͙̦͔̆͌͑̉͐̈́͋͒͗̒̓̈́́͠W̸̨̲̪̜̻̪͇̜̘͓͙̳̽͛͝E̵̢̥̖̮͉̜̝̻͇͙̣̺̥͑͊̃̇͘ ̷͙̙̈́̽̏Ą̶͇̳̲͚̲̞̂̌̊͝R̸͎͉̣̺̠̬̪͔͒̌̈̒̐̾̀̈́͑̒̾́̂̈́ͅE̸̛̥̩̮̘͐̊̈́͌͌̔͊̓͑̏͗̕͘̕ ̶̜̟̜͚̞̤̝͚̘͓̆͋̇͗͋̚T̵͈̥͈̻͂͑Ḩ̴̢͍̯̻̮̖̱̠̼̞̺̪̼̪̒̈̎́̍͊̓̾Ȩ̵̳̼̝͇͙̹̖̜̭̔̇͛̽̅̐̚̚͜͝ ̸̺͍̹͖̬̱̳͕̯̮̲͚̜̹͚̅̿͑͛̌̒͘E̴̖͆̉̂͂͘͘̚N̵̛͖̖̹̻̼̜̜͙̐̾͊̋̈̈́͆̅͋̄̌͘͝Ḋ̶̟̼̬̠̖͈͉̘̬̰̗͕̲̽̒͂̏̀̔̑̒̈́͗̐͊ͅ ̴̤̩͔͋͠O̴̡̧̢͕̖̟̘̟̜̪͎͍̖͘F̶͕̫̒͌͑͋̅ ̸̛̛̯͓͈̠̣͎͐͊̈́̈̓̈́̕ͅÁ̴̛͉̎́̏̃̇̋̋̿̄̓͘̚͠L̵̢̨̡̛͎̱͔̖̳͔̩̄͛̅̌͑̀̚͠͝͠Ḷ̸̗́̈́͛̍͋̾͜͝ ̵̨̌̋̏͒̿̏̔̈́̽͑͝T̴̝͙̪̩̼̺̀̏͘͘H̴̡̗̬̩̫̫͕̞̖̭͚̤̖̉̒Î̷͉̬͇̼̟̜̺̳̬͍N̷̟̱͔͓̿̋̓͂̓̌́̓̅̽̉̕͝G̶̢͖̯̮̝͉̙̖̪̪̰̑̆̀̽̄̀͋̆͑͘͜͝Ŝ̷̡̡͕͈̠̰͇̑̊́̍̑̈́̂͗͋͝!̸̢̛̙͈̰̘͍͆͛̽̒͊̀͊̍̽̈́̿͐̏ ̵̨̰̫͍̗̖͉͗̀͒̈̊͋͆̏͊̆W̴̡̗͔͈̖̬͙͍̘̙͓̙̊̃͋͜͠ͅȨ̷̛͈͔̭̭̰̗̹͕͉̎͗̀̆͌̂̾͑̎͐̚͜͜͝͝ͅ ̴̪͎̮̘̦̑̓́̽̓̃͐̊̆̐̈́̇̚͝W̷̘̮͓̟̔̑͑̎̈́̍̋̐̔̾̉̕̕̕͠Ì̴̢̢̗̤̭̖̩̫̦̽͂L̷̡̟͚͉͚̟̙͉͓̃́̓̌̒̈͘L̵̡̛̟͚͔͍̫͕̹̖͇̏̑̋̀ ̵̫̠͔̹̭̝̜̝̬̉̑̇̂̍̾̈́̃͐B̵̞̩̩͈͙͚͆̈́͆̉̆͑͌̇̒̂̚͝Ę̴̪̥͒͐̌̈́͐͝ ̵̖̻̙̭͈̟̰̤̰̮͇̯͆͋͐͒F̴̧̙̳̦̦̮͖̥̿͌̃͆͗́̌ͅȮ̷̘̰͓̬̊̈́̚͜͝ͅR̷̥̋͑̈́͂̈́̕Ģ̶̛͓͍͛̐̃͛̓͆͋̊̋͘Ọ̷̯̓̽͐͌̚T̶̡̞̠̰͔̝̰͎͔͚̐͂͋̃͘Ţ̷͇̫̯̭͔͔͉̕ͅḘ̴͍͖̟̳͈̜͎͚̦̦͂̾͆̓͝N̴̗̮͎͇̺̞̰̠̔̈́̈̐͋̍͋̓̀̊̓̍͜ ̶̭̳͇͕̓͑͑̽̉̽̃N̷̡̨͉͖͈̜̮̪̘̙͚̦̗̅́̿̀͝͠Ỏ̸̙͉̤̱̫̗̎̐̚͜ ̷̬̗̮̝̼̆̈̓̑̐̀͘L̵̡̽O̷̢̡͓͙̤̪̗̭̬̯̳̹̝̍̑̃̅̕ͅN̸͇̫̱͖̹̄͜G̴͈͙̭͚͍̩̔͒̈́͗̎Ē̴̢̞͚̳͈͇̥̄̂͋̓̈̀̀̚̚R̵̖̱̤̊̾̉̌̍̂̈́̍̇̍͊!̵͕̔̂̾́̔̇͠͠͝ ̸͕͓͈̬͚̤̐̎B̴̨̢̳͔͓̳̻̙͎̘͚̝̮͐́Ȩ̶̜̪̖͚̹̠̣̜̳̭̤̼͌͗͒̓̽̑̃̍̈́͋͝H̷̢̼̦̯̪͕̥̉́̍̐͊͐̎̄͝Ǫ̸͛̎͛͊͗̄̓͊̚͠L̴̨̛͇͚͙̫̩͋̓̔͒̇̎ͅD̸̘͕̩̏͆͐̏͐̒̓̈́͛̓̈́̕̕̕Ḛ̵̫͍̮̼͋͂́͒͆̇̄̽͝N̴̘͔̓͒̃̂̔̉̇͋̀̈̕͝͠ ̷̡̧͚̘̞̪̦͓̭͙͒̔͛̀̕̕Ţ̶̬̭̣͕͔̦͕̜̹͉͇͍͒̚̚̕ͅƠ̴̢̧͍̲̫̝͚̣̜̘̄̀̇͊̒̕ͅͅ ̵̩̤̦̗̖̘̔̄́͜T̸̨̔͒̎̑̍̏̆̚H̵̳͙̼͎̏̈́͋̀̎̓͑͝Ȩ̷̛̪̜̘̫̻̺̪̫͎͖́͒̓̉̏̈́͛̇͊̓͆̅͘ ̷̡̩̥̘͙̠̗̤̦͍̿̃͛̒̆͐̾̌̈́ͅͅȄ̸̢͇̼͓̤͉̺͒̀̉Ṅ̵̡̨̡͍̠͇̖͙͌͛̊͋͛͗̿̉̈̅̎͝D̸̛̹͂̇̉̋͋͋̌̈ ̵̢̼̮͎̯̻̳̭͕̳̉̽̈̍̌͂͛́͗́̏͑O̵͚̻͖͓̠̲̠̔͝ͅF̸͖̩̈́́̋͊̐̊͆̕͝ͅ ̷̼̏͑̒̾̐̄̒́̇̔͂̚͠A̴̖̺̹͖̖̮̹̹̳̖̥͉̬͕͎̓̀̀̋̆̄̅̌̈́̔̍͝L̶͚̖̑̈̎́̒̆̃̃̃͒̔̕͝͝͠L̸̨̞̲͕̺̦̃͂̐̆̈́̂͝͝ ̷̲̰̫͓̦̱͉̖̥̖̤̣͛̏̉̔̈́̌̔̄̾̿Ţ̷̧̲̠̫̘̤̠̥͙̩̜̘̇̂̂͌̂̑͌̔̏͑͘͝͝Ḥ̶̨̡̡͈̣̳̦̼̟̼̻͉̬̩͊Ị̶̼̯̽̅͗͂̂̕N̵͈̦̠̟͍̲̻̞̊̀̅̈̒̈́̚̚͝Ǧ̸̫̰̃͋̒̅̇̃̊̓̅͝S̷͖̻̹̺̗͙͔͍̣̦̞͇̹̮̲̒̌!"

The words, if that's what they truly could've been called were heard but not comprehended by the Imagine Breaker's former Bearer. They simply _couldn't_ be comprehended. Kamijou Touma's internal data-gathering protocols fell silent.

Index wept aloud as she screamed for him. For her guardian, her 'keeper', her dearest friend.

" **TOUUUUMMAAAAAAA**!"

Like a bolt of black lightning brought down by some hellish, merciless god, the Accelerator, screaming in unending incomprehensible languages surged forward, eyes swiftly, and completely consumed entirely by enormous, flowing orbs of crackling, empty void energies. From his nose, from his mouth, even from within his ears, void 'magma' flowed freely, dripping downward and outward.

There was nothing she could do. Her one hundred and three thousand volumes contained nothing powerful enough to counter that which tugged at this corpse's strings. Index's line of sight caught the corpse's own; the little silver-haired nun was caught, then. Staring deeply into his eyes, she realized quickly that was something was very much amiss.

Those eyes were not Accelerator's own.

They were wide, hideous. Pulsating, crusted, golden-coloured eyes, with black, cat-like slits. Pus leaked from the corpse's eyelids, dripping and bubbling and gurgling.

How could humanity devise spells to counteract that which the human brain could not possibly conceive of?

But it was not Kamijou Touma who faced the monster down.

No clash of monsters occurred, not there and not in that moment.

It was not the girl who'd memorized over one hundred thousand foul Grimoires, for she remained as a mere spectator, watching the grim event play out from afar.

Seemingly, from nothingness, **an angel** formed, blinking into existence.

A hand, palm smooth like silk, fingers long and thin wrapped around the throat of the perpetually-shrieking Accelerator, lifting him and preventing his continued rush. A gnarled appendage of pallid, sickly purple flame, sprouting from the stump where his right arm had attempted, but failed to touch her body.

Her loafer-clad feet pressed against the defiled, innocent earth, with many fluorescent, tendril-like protrusions emerging from her shoulders.

Long, golden hair flowed from the crown of her head, a bright golden halo topping it, floating peacefully and occasionally pulsating. Her eyes, coloured like the hues of a hope-bringing rainbow locked with the false eyes that'd come to overtake those sitting in Accelerator's sockets.

Clad in the uniform of Kirigaoka Girls Academy, she alone held the raging, screaming monstrosity at bay.

She'd saved Kamijou Touma yet again.

Directly into the beast's face, Kazakiri Hyouka screamed her own cry of challenge.

"You. Will. **NEVER** … **HURT _MY_ FRIENDS!** To **Hell** with **YOU!"**

With a thrash of the many fluorescent ribbons protruding from her back, Kazakiri Hyouka reeled her arm back, the neck of the number one strongest esper in Academy City gripped in the palm of her hand like some piece of garbage she'd fetched from a dustbin.

Into the distance the corpse was thrown, travelling through the air at hundreds of miles an hour. Over the many rolling fieldscapes he passed before eventually fading from sight, 'consumed' by distance.

"T̴̺͇͖̫̙͉̫̩̮̊̑̎̽̅͋͌̀̂̀̊̕̚͘Ḧ̵͈́̈́́̚̚Ȩ̸̧̥̬̘͇̫̞̼̾̓͑͋̅͛͌̾̊͆̏R̴͇̠̓̍̌͐͠Ȩ̸̨̮̱̤͙͈̘̲͕̗͕͒̈́̿͑̇͑̈́̾̍́͘͜͝ͅ ̷̭̗͉̪̀Į̸̮͇̫̇̆̔͌̂̍͌͝S̴̞̙̯͚͇̀̿̅ ̴̡͖̪̺͓̜̺̰̥̮̩̀̓̀͌̑̓͜N̸̡̹̬̥̱̱̯̳̼̂͆̌̋͂̌́͂̈́̒̕͜Ơ̴̛̩̗̠͔̲̘͙̜͌͒̎̎̆͛̔̕͠͝T̴̛͓̬̟̱̤͎̝̑̌͗̓̚̕͘H̶̠͐͗̔́̈̈̆̊̄̽̀͘Ȉ̶̹̯̙̳͓̺̣̺̦̺̬̩͖̩͙̄̚Ņ̸̨̡̳̙͕̮̗͙̎͒̈́̇̾̈͜G̶̖̋̆̀̽̐̿ ̵͚͇̗̲̜͉̱̰̞̐̈́̍Y̶̹̫̠̆͐̃̾͂̽̚͝͝͝͝ͅǪ̷͍̪̪͔̟̯̀͛̓͂̓̄͐̓͊Ừ̴̡̬̰̱̱͙̫̥̫̟̈́͂̃͆̓̉̔͋̿͘͠ͅͅ ̵̳͓̌͒̌͜Ċ̶̢͎͎͉̤͔̱̲͙̖̭̺͔͛̑̑́͛̈Ą̵̠͚̫̺̬͚̓̌̾̓̇̿͌̾̓̓͘͜͠͝ͅN̴̛͎̫͎͖̱̤͚̈́̆̃̍̑̑̂̎̄̚͜͝ ̸̙̙̣̣̻̱̹͕͈̦͂̇̈́͑̈́̈́̌̚̚D̷̻̯̰̙̮̖͎̑̍̒̍̊̐̑̏̊́̑̇͘O̶̢͉͖͈̬̰̝̥̝͕̗̔̂̔͐̒͂͝ͅͅ,̸̧̲̝̊̈̅̄́̽͌̿͘͠͝ ̵̢̼̳̻̱̫͚͍̼͖̤̙̂̋͆̎Ä̸̘́́͒͒̌̓̓̆̾͆̇́̽̀̆N̵͖̞͎͚̮͎̘͍͗̌̕Ģ̵̛̺̟͎̜̮̣͈̦̋͌͑͒͘E̸̡̬͔͔͔̺̺̅͒̂͋̾͊͝L̷͉͖͓͓͙̯͇̟̙̯͍͊̀̉̃̀̓̀ͅ!̵͇͎̗̤̙̦̗̥̃͒̄͋̈́͐̑̆ ̸̢̪͎̬̰͓̺̰͇̯̻͙̈̓̓͋̎͠T̵̨͇̥̍̈̈́̊̈͛Ḣ̵̢̡̛̖͔̝̪̣̰͕͍̾́̂̾͋͊͜ͅE̷͍̋͐̃̀̊̑̌͐͠ ̵̧̢͔̙͖̞̗̩͔͕̖̪̏E̷͇͔̐̈́̀̂̋̈̽́̔̐̏͠N̶̨͖͎̜̘͔̲͚̾̍͜͠D̵̛̼͕̯̤̗̝͖͇̓̏͐͂͋̈́̋̽͌͘͜ ̵͔̂͋̋̑̋̆͒̒͛̔͘͝Ḧ̷̻̼́̋̎̀Ȁ̸̢̧͓̻̱͖̘͒̓̊̇̽̀̑̈́͆̆͆̽̅̀S̸̼͚͇̩͔̝̝͑ ̸̢͙̘̞͇̔̇̋͝Ḅ̸̧̛̳͓̺͚̮̞̹̬͚̪͔͙͆͐̅̀́͋̓̽ͅE̶̺̝̗̣̝̜͒̓͋̀̐̔̋̐́͗͘G̸̢̥̱͚̮̤̖̖̓́̌̄̏̐̄̚U̴͚̓N̸̫̣̞͚̭͙̫͉̓͒̀̇̎̾̃̀̊̔͋̕̕!̵̢̡̹͎̮͈͍̩̼͚̬̗͍̤̊̓͆̆̍̏́͋ͅ ̵̬̼̼͖̟̃̊̉͗͝͝͝Ȧ̸͕͚͇͇̳̐͋̌͜Ļ̸̡͙̟̩̰̗͈͓̯̰̓́̉̂͗̍L̸̺͎̙͔̖̇̿̍̽̉̾̅́̆̊͊͑̾͘͝ ̵͈̜͚͓̱̻̭̱͖̎̇̾͐͗̒̓̑̀̂̒͠͝͝W̵̨͍̣̖̼̮͎̯͆̓̾̑̅̍̕͜͝͝ͅI̴̧̡̛̟̣̙̜̘̼̦̪̓͐̐̓̈́̍̈́̊̈́̈́̓͜͝͠L̴̛̜͙̤͍͕̝͇̲͛̇͑̇̌̈́̎̅̚̕̚͝͠L̷͕̟̯̼͑͆̍̐̆̽͘̚̚ ̷̢̞̞͙̇͗̒̑̾͠P̸̛̪͗͊̆̄̕E̵̡̯͙̙͙͙̘͉̹͇̔̓́̃̉̒̕R̷̢̹̥̱̟͍͙̙̫̼̱̿̐I̶̢͇̰̟̠͙͍̜̬̻̽͌̉̊̅̋̉ͅS̸͓̯̀́͑̐̑͂̈́̆Ḣ̸̡̧̭̰̜̈̽̒̒͋̓̂̐̚̚͝!̴̡͔̞͐̽͒̎̕͝͝͠"

"Kaza… kiri…? Kaza… Kazakiri!"

"H-Hyouka?!"

Despite (or, alternatively, perhaps because of) the actions she'd taken, Kazakiri Hyouka smiled warmly, as she turned to face a Kamijou Touma stained with blood that couldn't have possibly been his, a freed Index; she was no longer enthralled by those false eyes.

So, what followed was a blur.

Kamijou Touma soon found himself embraced, held tightly in her arms. Index, too, was held in the arms of the angelic Kazakiri Hyouka.

Both Touma and Index returned the embrace. Both were desperate for the gentle, warm positivity emanated passively by the sentient collection of AIM Fields.

"Kazakiri! I… I don't get it, I'm not going to pretend to get it, but… I'm glad you're here. I'm really glad you're here."

"I'm glad to be here. Truthfully… My… Curiosity. It got the better of me, again. I decided to trail you, from that strange shop in Academy City. I couldn't resist. I'm glad that I made the decision, even if you wind up being angry with me."

"I wish I had a solid answer to that," Touma responded. "I… Index. Kazakiri. I'm sorry you had to see me like that. It's just…"

Index shook her head, placing the tip of her finger to her 'keeper's' lips.

"Shush, Tou-ma."

The embrace was ended, but their love for one another didn't fade.

"Your feelings are justified," Hyouka stated, firmly. "I only recently learned what… He… Did. If I'd known before… If only I could've known before. To think that I fought alongside the likes of such a… A monster, in Eastern Europe… Regardless of the ends, the means feel like they were filthy, now."

Just how Kazakiri Hyouka had learned of _that,_ he didn't know. Perhaps she'd gotten herself in with some of the higher-ups.

Then again, the higher-ups were worthless sacks of meat. If Kazakiri Hyouka wasn't fond of Accelerator, she likely would've been even less fond of THEM.

Slowly, Kamijou Touma crouched, and wiped his blade-hand in the grass, cleansing as best he could the bloodstains from it. To his surprise, Index took to his side.

"I still can barely stomach the fact that I didn't just kill him the first time around, that I… I was able to "accept" what he'd done, and say, "oh, yeah, that's fine! You killed thousands of people, but we're friends now!" I'm disgusted by myself, by who I was… I was less. Pathetic. Worthless. I betrayed the Sisters. I betrayed Misaka… but no more. That Kamijou is gone, forever..."

Kazakiri Hyouka cast her gaze to the horizon, as her angelic features faded. Her fluorescent ribbons dissipated, breaking apart before disintegrating. The halo atop her head's crown too dissipated, and, soon enough, her irises returned to their 'true' coloration, a light hazel.

To the uninitiated, she would've looked the part of an average, everyday schoolgirl, from Academy City's Kirigaoka Girls Academy.

"With his power," Hyouka began, kneeling before her friends, even as one unbloodied himself, "he could've halted those Experiments, quite easily. Yet, apparently, if his sympathizers are to be believed, he simply didn't think of doing so… if so many lives weren't lost, the frailness of the whole situation, the whole argument would almost be humorous."

For a while, the trio exchanged no more words. Some time passed, and, eventually, the darkness brought by the hand of dusk seemed to threaten arrival, lurking just over the horizon, just over the rolling hills and flowing fieldscapes, brushed and kissed by the breeze.

There was little to do but finish the grim business he'd originally set out to complete, then return to the motel, 'Hawkhaven'.

Elsewhere, the corpse of a certain vector-manipulating esper stirred, bathed in a combination of sand, mud, and his own bodily fluids.

To say that his clothes were ruined would be the understatement of the century. With a broken leg and two missing arms, laying in a field hundreds of miles away from the location in which he found himself, the Accelerator wasn't going anywhere, simply put.

This puppet, indeed, was near-worthless; but perhaps, _they_ could still milk some usefulness from it. Browsing the shattered brain's memories like they were little more the pages of a cheap magazine read over a relaxing dinner, _they_ took control. _They_ put the corpse of the Accelerator to work.


	38. Intimate Connection

February 10th, 2004. 9:05 PM.

Yet more time had passed since Kamijou Touma had taken up his vigil upon the collapsing roof of the seemingly-abandoned motel, Hawkhaven. Kamijou observed the horizon, lost in thoughts all alone.

At one point, though another vehicle entered the fake-abandoned settlement, Kamijou Touma wasn't concerned by its presence, even as he'd observed it from afar. While this wouldn't have made much sense otherwise, Touma's sense of trust was entirely based on the fact that the vehicle was similar to the vehicle that he and **his** girls had arrived in. A silver-coloured SUV, its surfaces laden with intricate, runic markings.

That was a nice enough thought, at the very least. The girls he loved so very much, the people he wanted to spend the rest of his – perhaps immortal, quasi-artificial – life with. **His** girls.

Though he didn't search for any one subject or potential target, Touma instead looked further onto the horizon and cast many a nanorobotic scout outward. They fluttered about freely around the pathetic excuses for fences that surrounded the motel, which, if the former Leader of the Agnese Forces was to be believed, was in fact an Amakusan base of operations. They observed, silently, invisible to the naked eye and reported a seemingly never-ending stream of information to the converted higher mind that ruled over them.

Just what in the ever-loving fuck was happening? What had Kamijou Touma gotten those close to him swept up into? Then again, it was hardly anyone's fault, besides that no-good snake Tsuchimikado Motoharu.

If he got his way, Kamijou Touma would nail that bastard to a cross before the week was through.

Some more time passed Kamijou Touma by, so many grains in the ever-tilting hourglass of life were juggled about within the nonexistent glass that contained them.

Before long, however, something changed in the formula. There was a brief edit, a slow switch in the method of reality's ebb and flow. There was an interrupter.

There was suddenly a cog in the metaphorical machine, one introduced, not native to the construction of the situation itself. As if to answer his mental call, a vocalization rang out; the voice was soft and almost melodic. The words were those of a greeting.

"Kamijou? That little nun said you'd be out here, so, uh… Howdy. Not intruding, am I?"

He didn't even have to look in her direction to learn more. A nanorobotic scout, invisible to the naked eye fluttered past, and delivered the necessary information. Musujime Awaki had entered the scene. Aside from lacking her stockings, her outfit seemed to remain the same.

Kamijou wasn't particularly surprised by her arrival; anything and anywhere that she, the Move Point girl could see, she could teleport to. That was how her Personal Reality functioned, relying on complex mathematical equations and calculations which Kamijou understood only because his ascended, advanced higher mind was capable of proverbially spelling the cerebral mechanics out for him in layman's terms.

It would only be polite to pay attention, even if his converted mind wished to wander elsewhere and consider other matters. With a forceful, internalized command, Kamijou Touma forced himself to obey his own commands.

"Yee haw, pardner," Touma greeted, chuckling softly, more to himself than to the young woman who'd deigned to seek him out. Clacking against the cobbled walkway, the soles of Musujime Awaki's shoes produced the only source of audible stimulus not of a human (or otherwise human-like) origin. "You're good. I don't mind the company. It's… Pretty nice that you'd think of coming out to see me."

Soon, she closed the distance between herself and the being that'd once been a "normal high school boy". With the moon's lunar rays leaping over the Earth and galloping across her surfaces, the lunar illumination seemed to brighten the form of Musujime Awaki. It accented her features, especially her slim stature, partnered with her luscious, natural curves. With confidence she strode forward, the thigh gap between her milky legs visible.

Then, Awaki took a seat next to Touma upon a section of ventilation piping, covered in rust and a foul sheen of some thick, viscous liquid. She plopped herself down, and brought her knees up. Folding her arms over them, the Move Point user leaned forward.

"Sheesh… I think you dodged a bullet. That little girl with the weird shoes talked some… Strange stuff. Something about a "Church of England" and a "Roman Orthodox Church", "Crusaders" and… Something about genocide happening all around us, places like Africa and the Balkans in Eastern Europe, "conversion at the tip of a sword", or something of that sort.

"Roman Orthodox Church apparently has control of Baggage City, even… Never heard anything about that, or any of this for that matter, on the news. Something about "Annihilatus" and the "Russian Orthodox Church" being the only ones standing up to this "Crusade". Honestly? Most of it went over my head."

"I bet it did, it's all confusing, Musujime," Touma responded. "There's a lot to tell, it'd be impossible to sit an entire group down and have a lecture about it in great detail, there's just too much to say. It's an entire history of an entire world that most people on Earth don't even know exists."

With a shake of her head, Awaki spoke.

"That's what gets me the most about the whole scenario. If there are world incidents happening, how can they be covered up and hidden? Like something straight out of one of those eight-hour Internet documentaries… you know the ones? About the Jewish lizard bankers from the star system Alpha Draconis controlling the world?"

"Heh… uh huh. Yeah. Maybe they're right, huh?"

Kamijou Touma lifted his right arm, and looked to Musujime Awaki. Raising an eyebrow, he tilted his head to one side.

"Feel like a bit of physical attention, Musujime?"

"Nah, I don't mind, feel free. If you're tryin' to do what I think you're tryin' to do. It's really cute, actually. I like this confidence of yours; it's a real turn-on. If you're going to step to me, step to me. Just be honest. That's all this girl's asking."

Slowly, as if he was attempting not to startle her, Touma confidently wrapped his arm around Awaki's shoulders with the utmost care dedicated to his deliberate actions.

It only took her a fraction of a second to offer her response to the physical act of affection.

Retorting in kind, the grinning Move Point user moved ever closer, pressing herself against Kamijou Touma, nuzzling and nudging affectionately. With a stretch and a small moan, she rested the side of her head against him, allowing her aching neck to be supported.

Though his form was chilly to the touch, the sensation was an oddly relaxing one, like the feeling of resting her head against the soft surface of a cool pillow.

"You okay? Feelin' alright? Your buddies seemed worried, especially that Kazakiri girl. We've only talked here and there, but she's alright. We've never had any problems. We go to the same school."

"I'll survive, thanks. Feels… good to be appreciated. Yeah. Kazakiri's great. Maybe… Funny thought, here, maybe the British Royal Family are all lizard people in disguise, huh? Who knows? I think just about anything is possible at this point given even the fraction of shit we've both seen. I've seen craziness, you've seen it, a little bit of it at least."

Joining Kamijou Touma, Musujime Awaki looked to the horizon as well, observing the movements of the great, grey cloud coverage as it continued to achieve locomotion, darting as a super-organism across the sky, which it'd come to overtake.

"Makes you wonder what else is being hidden from "the people." Makes me wonder, at least."

"Magic Side has always been like this, apparently, for hundreds of years. Don't get me the wrong way, I only know so much, Index knows way more than I do; she's how I learned most of what I know. Index said this one Parish in the Church of England, Necessarius, they started as witch-hunters."

"Witch… hunters? As in…?"

"You know, burning at the stake, hanging, all that… great stuff."

"Wholesome."

"Very wholesome… as far as I know, the Roman Orthodox Church has always been causing trouble. As long as I've known Index, they have been at least, and you can see some of their influence even in the history books. Inquisitions, Salem, forced conversions."

On its own, the topic of conversation faded from existence, falling deep into obscurity, joining so many others that too had been abandoned.

Their exchanging having temporarily come to an end, Kamijou Touma immediately began to miss it… perhaps not the subject matter, but the act of exchanging words with Musujime Awaki.

He wanted more, to talk more with the Move Point girl who'd come to be so physically close to him. He sought to know her, to get closer, to close the distance between himself and her.

Was this how he'd always made Misaka Mikoto feel? Was this the sort of longing she'd experienced for all those months, perhaps? What kind of monster had "dead Kamijou Touma" been? What kind of selfish, arrogant, self-righteous, bumbling fool had "dead Kamijou Touma" developed into?

"Musujime?"

"Bzzzz. I hear you, loud 'n clear."

"Did Tsuchimi… did the snake ever tell you about the Queen of the Adriatic Sea? That was Roman Orthodox, too."

Glancing in his direction, the Move Point user offered the Imagine Breaker's Once-Bearer an awkward, confused-looking facial expression.

"The… Queen of the whowhat wherehow?"

With his available arm, Kamijou Touma stretched outwards, moving the appendage away from him. Musujime Awaki's vision followed, curiously observing her compatriot's odd, if amusing actions.

"It was this gigantic fleet of ships, all made from ice that came right out of the sea. The main ship of the whole fleet, the Queen of the Adriatic Sea itself… it was supposed to be able to wipe Venice off the map, completely, destroying the city's people, its culture, everything."

Kamijou Touma felt an awkward shudder; he moved into gear, and tightened his grip around the Move Point user's shoulders. Though convenient, at least from a 'human' standpoint, scaring Awaki was far from his intent; but he wasn't about to not show his affection, his solidarity.

"That's…Mildly terrifying. It's gone, right?"

"Yeah, it's gone, Musujime. Apparently, there was this one spell, that, if cast on a certain day, and at a certain time, it would've allowed for this fleet of ships to destroy any settlement. Long story short, they, the Roman Orthodoxy, they wanted to get rid of Academy City. Of us. Just because they don't agree with science. This is how far they'd go to accomplish their fucking _insane_ goals. I say, we wipe them off the map, for that provocation alone.

"I see it like this. You don't have to agree with me, nobody does, my feelings are exactly that… But anyone who wants the Roman Orthodox Church gone is a friend of mine. If the Amakusa are aiming for Roman Orthodox heads, then I'll take aim, too. Seeing them as an ugly blotch on your… I mean, "our" history would be nice. Very nice."

Musujime Awaki spoke, but not of the subject at hand, not of the Queen of the Adriatic Sea.

"Wanting to wipe things out, drive them to extinction, huh? Reminds me of someone. Someone who decided to come back from the ocean I dropped him off in. I really do have to wonder about that. Something's not adding up, Kamijou."

There was one way to be sure, to figure out just what the Move Point user was hinting at. Touma had a feeling.

"Index and Kazakiri tell you, then?" Touma queried, looking to Awaki, who looked to him in turn. With a nod of her head, she vocalized the piece she sought to speak.

"Yeah. They… kind of told all of us. The little nun said it was necessary, because of "Old Gods" something or other, she mentioned it before, when we were talking in the car, but I still don't really get it… Sheesh, this magic business is mind-boggling. But... where was I?"

She looked away. Her gaze found itself transfixed on the cracked, concrete stair beneath her posterior, and the posterior of Kamijou Touma. Small clumps of weeds were sprouting, pushing forward from within; nature seemed to be taking Hawkhaven back, bit by bit, baby step by baby step.

"Now, Kamijou, listen to me. I barely find myself in any position to be talking shit about anyone. I'm not proud of the things I've done and the pain I've put people through, especially that half-assed little Tokiwadai princess of a teleporter… everyone who knows about him, about what he did. He befriends that little clone, and then, everything's okay. Everything's forgiven and forgotten, the ten thousand lives lost are just… Water under the bridge suddenly, just, "okey doke."

"Yeah… my thoughts exactly. 'Part of me hates myself for not killing him in that switchyard, but, then, what would've become of Last Order and Worst? Maybe, in that situation, I made the right call… But they're safe now. Bastard did what he set out to do. You ask me? Dead, undead, doesn't matter. A monster like him isn't long for this world."

The reality, the gravity of his words set in, within the confines of Musujime Awaki's higher mind.

The words he spoke were so very true. They were words that rang true; they were truer in their meaning than a lot of words she'd heard before.

Musujime Awaki sighed; finally, someone who was willing to see reason, and put their political correctness behind them when it wasn't required. Somehow, those who lurked in the 'darkness' sought to maintain ironic, if translucent facades. What was there to be politically correct about? That monster, Accelerator, he was a killer. Killers weren't to be treated with any level of care.

They were _supposed_ to be trash, thrown away by society.

"We've never gotten along," Awaki remarked, responding to the words Touma had spoken, once she'd managed to emerge from her own musings.

"Him getting knocked around by you isn't enough. Getting knocked around by that Skill Out big guy isn't enough, either. Like I said, I'm no hero. If anything, I'm a villain, just like him… So, maybe… My words don't mean all that much here. It's just how I feel about him. About the whole thing. He could've stopped it before it'd started, you know, Kamijou. Accelerator could've brought the whole operation down on itself. He could've, he should've, but he didn't."

Swiftly, his lips found themselves connecting with those of the Move Point user.

For a few fleeting moments, they remained connected, two becoming one in the moment. Awaki didn't attempt to pull away. She didn't even consider performing the act. Even if his lips tasted oddly coppery, even if they were almost unnaturally cold, the interaction wasn't unwanted.

Then, Kamijou Touma broke away.

"You're nothing like him."

Kamijou Touma spoke words that made the Move Point user and former GROUP Operative start, slightly; yet he wasn't done. He was far from done, in fact.

"I'm still not completely sure what you did, and, to be honest, it's not important. As far as I'm aware, you haven't killed innocents who've done no wrong, let alone thousands of people just for the sake of doing so, for the sake of getting power. It wouldn't matter, the reason. Trivial wrongdoings, backstabbing, those can be made up for, you can rebuild bridges and mend ties. You can't bring the dead back to life, and, even if you do, somehow… Their deaths aren't undone. The pain isn't undone."

"P-Precisely. I didn't. If I did, I'd be a hypocrite for talking shit about him. Whether it was one person or a hundred, it wouldn't matter. I've had it up to here with the emotional dishonesty and emotional mind-games people play, when it comes to _him_ , Kamijou. He deserved to _die_."

Wordlessly, Kamijou Touma nodded his head in agreement. He couldn't have agreed any more. Musujime Awaki had, in fact, vocalized his own opinion on the matter. She'd voiced it better than even he likely even could've. Her tone, the confidence in her words, she minced nothing and she strayed not from the proverbial path she obviously desired to traverse.

And, so, apparently taking lessons from the proverbial book of the Imagine Breaker's former Bearer, Musujime Awaki moved in, scooting as close as she could. Again, lips connected with another set, cold and icy, almost unnaturally so.

"Let's not think about that anymore. To Hell with him, let him rot in this own shit. You and me, let's get close. Let's take advantage of this situation and exchange kindly words over some tea and biscuits, shall we…? Sheesh. I was supposed to drag you back to the motel with me, on the orders of this Kanzaki lady. Nice lady, real friendly, kinda reminds me of a mom. One of your many… _admirers_ , I take it? Not that I mind or anything. Different situation that most, but, different is good, Hell, _I'm_ different."

"Kanzaki's here? Kanzaki… We've… Kanzaki and I have a history. But, you're the one who caught my intrigue right now. Tea and biscuits, is that it? Is that what the kids are calling it, Musujime? Fine by me. I'm not about to say no."

"That's what I like to hear… We can figure all that out, later."

Despite their coldness, it wasn't a non-pleasurable sensation. Losing themselves, both Musujime Awaki and Kamijou Touma could forget the monster known only as "the Accelerator". Their pasts, seemingly returning from the metaphorical graves they'd both some time ago been buried in had dug themselves up, and threatened to haunt the lives of their once-owners again.

But they were denied, and cast back to their nonexistent graves within their owners' minds, forever trapped once more, forever striving to escape.

Touma's hands seemed to find their own way to Awaki's bared legs; he certainly wasn't about to stop them or even attempt to prevent them from making their way.

"A little birdie told me that a dirty boy named Kamijou likes touching girls' legs. Is that true? Does the all-righteous, maiden-rescuing he~ro enjoy feeling girls up? Nasty, nasty boy."

"That little birdie wasn't telling a lie, they definitely caught me…"

"Touch away, hero-boy. Call it the spoils of victory. I'm down for a little bit of roleplay."

Kamijou Touma almost didn't want to ask; it could've been a potentially dark piece of reality that Musujime Awaki was attempting to bring into 'the moment'.

"The spoils of victory? I don't want to be a buzzkill, but, what victory, exactly? I cut up an insane, rabid animal, it's not a big deal. Hunters do it all the time in the forest. I literally don't see a difference. Haven't always felt this way, but it's the right way to feel. Anything else… It's fake."

Musujime Awaki parted, for a moment, though she didn't move far from where Kamijou Touma had seated himself. With his hands remaining on her bared legs, she placed her own on his shoulders. Looking deeply into his eyes, into the darkened pupils that laid smack-dab within the centers of his irises, Awaki focused her intent.

"Kamijou?"

"Musujime."

"Let me take a stab in the dark. I think, this applies to my own outlook, but you've sort of said the same thing, so… Me? I couldn't hold it against you, but I'm still disappointed, not in you personally, more in… The whole outcome itself, that you didn't finish what you started, on that night. But then, what about the kid? The bigger clone? Both of 'em probably would've ended up in "Kihara-kun's" clutches, one way or another, and that would've been a fate worse than death.

"That's what I think. I think the Accelerator's expunged what use he could be of to the world, to society. I think he knew it, too. He was lethargic, barely able to muster the energy to jab back when that siscon pervert or Mister Dress-Up jabbed at him, coming on the end."

Performing the act he'd come to associate with affection, Kamijou Touma placed a soft kiss to Musujime Awaki's forehead. Though a soft, pink blush adorned her cheeks, she didn't seem to mind, nor did she reel.

In truth, she didn't mind one bit. The softness of it, the obvious desire and care that'd been put into the act was something to be admired.

And rewarded.

But that could wait. In the moment, there were more important matters to attend to. The moment was even more profound within her mind. She found herself sharing it alongside the boy who'd likely saved her life and so many others through his simple, yet profound actions on that misguided night, when teleporter had faced down teleporter.

To her surprise, to her shock and, almost, in a strange, half-baked sense, to her horror, Musujime Awaki witnessed something she'd thought to be an impossibility.

He frowned. Kamijou Touma's lips curled downwards, ever so slightly, curving and bending into the shape of a crescent moon.

Suddenly, he seemed less like an impenetrable Iron Wall of fury.

He frowned because he couldn't get a straight answer. He frowned because his apparently "omniscient" data-gathering protocols seemed to be suddenly running haywire, metaphorically stumbling over themselves as they struggled to reach a conclusive answer.

Kamijou Touma was on his own. He wouldn't be receiving any help, no recommendations, no environmental factors, nothing. Only his own newfound, hateful and vindictive nature, one which demanded for the death of the Accelerator _yet again_ , one which paradoxically grieved at the idea of tearing Last Order's world apart as he had, by killing that rabid animal.

"He isn't making this easy for me. That girl, Last Order…"

"She adores him. I know, Kamijou. Talked to her before a couple of times. She's… She's a really sweet little girl. She says the Sisters forgive him – Accelerator. I'm no doctor and I'm not gonna pretend to be, but I think it's Stockholm Syndrome on a massive scale."

"What he did couldn't have gone unpunished any longer. He needed to answer for it. He needed to pay, an eye for ten thousand eyes. Even if it does make the entire world go blind."

As if to escape, like it was a desperate, last-ditch attempt at fleeing from the duality, Touma kissed Awaki once more, and Musujime Awaki embraced the changing tide which washed over her. Her hands gripped those of Kamijou Touma, and she forced his hands to stroke her legs, as she, with similar force, pushed her tongue deep into his mouth, two sets of lips smacking against one another.

"You stopped it," Awaki insisted between breaths. Forced to 'come up' for air, Awaki spoke when she could. "You stopped it all, you stopped me, you _saved_ me when I was at my worst. You've done more than that, Kamijou. You deserve a rest, a reprieve from all the fucked up nonsense in the world. So kiss me and let loose for a bit… let's feel good together."

"I can't rest, Musujime! Not when I've got people like Tsuchimikado… that fucking snake, he's next, dragging me around, threatening the people I love. But he's just a puppet on a string! I'm sick to death of these puppet-masters! That's why…"

Kamijou Touma attempted to break away, but failed in his short-lived quest to do so. Instead of pulling away, he pushed forward, his form disobeying his converted mind's domineering commands.

"That's why I'm… Not alone. If you, if Index, if Olivia-chan and Mikoto and Seria and… everyone… We'll get going, start from the top, and work _our_ way down to the bottom. It's time _we_ , _us_ , everyone, cut OUR fucking strings. If Agnese told you about what the Roman Orthodox Church has been up to, then, you have an idea of the kind of shit that's been going down, the kind of manipulation and string-tugging.

For a moment, Kamijou Touma silenced himself, before he quickly seemed to change the subject.

"Did she tell you about the real cause behind World War Three?"

Ironically, the subject didn't change all that much. A different branch of the same proverbial, conversational tree.

Musujime Awaki nodded her head, yes. She swallowed, hard, and wiped her arm across her face.

"God's Right Seat", and, more specifically, someone named "Fiamma of the Right", whoever that is. Agnese-san didn't say much about it… a-allergies, eh, Kamijou? Must be some ragweed, out here. Always gets to me."

Kamijou Touma shook his head, yes. Then, from where he'd seated himself Touma rose up.

"He started it. It was Fiamma of the Right, God's Right Seat, an organization within the Roman Orthodox Church that started the War… I could've ended it. Him, I mean, Fiamma. I could've stomped his head until there was nothing left, avenged the millions of lives lost in World War Three, but… I FUCKING DIDN'T! I was a pathetic, cowardly piece of _garbage_ that just couldn't do what had to be done. I'm _glad_ I suffered, I'm _glad_ I was nearly killed! It fixed me. It made me better. It made me smarter, it expanded my mind."

Though she didn't rise, Awaki did cast her gaze toward him. She did look to Kamijou Touma, tilting her head back, as she crossed her right leg over her left, effectively preventing a muscle spasm from occurring before such a thing could near.

"The little nun told us about what happened, y'know. Sheesh, Kamijou, you don't have to be so cryptic about these things. There's nothing for you to be ashamed of."

"She… did?"

"Mhm. Do you really think people are going to hate you because of something that happened to you that was completely beyond your control? You didn't walk up to this place and go, "sign me up", and even if you did, that would've been your decision to make. That fervour you've got when it comes to Accelerator is proof enough that you're not a "bad guy."

And, so, without warning, Kamijou Touma's outer layer of machine-phase matter faded, commanded to flee into its main mass by his converted higher mind, revealing what laid just beneath.

Observing, Musujime Awaki merely tilted her head to the side.

Without his skin, Kamijou Touma was certainly something else. Like the proper form of a human being without his skin, there were muscles, tendons and bones clearly present, each made up of buzzing, swarming masses of something queer. A sort of strange, flowing resin. With individually-defined fingers and toes, he then stood tall, shoulders held back, and with his head held high.

"But you haven't seen it."

"So? We both live in Academy City. Sheesh, you act like this is something out of the ordinary, Kamijou. Is it all that different from an ability? Not really. You look a little different on the inside, but, aside from that, there's really not all that much difference between what the little nun said you can do, and what an ability user can do."

"I… Dunno. I expected you to go "kyaaaaa!" and teleport away, or something along those lines."

Nearly leaping, Musujime Awaki rose to her feet as well, leaving the cold, concrete stair behind. Folding her arms beneath her bosom, she continued to look toward Kamijou Touma, whose outer layer of nanorobotic resin had reformed.

"I'm not about that. Is there really a point in being a judgmental prick? I don't see one, it doesn't get you anywhere. What you were forced to become, at least, that's how the little nun described it, that doesn't change who you are and what you've done, and what you stand for. Doesn't make you any less of a person. In my books, you're just as human as I am."

For a while, Kamijou Touma simply held Musujime Awaki in his arms, finding himself at a loss for words. In equal silence, the Move Point user returned the embrace.

Even if his entire body was cold to an almost unnatural degree, that hardly mattered. Cold or warm, flesh or something else entirely, he was him, someone, an individual, a person more than worthy of respect and companionship.

Such were the thoughts that drifted through Awaki's mind as she placed her arms around his back, interlocking her own fingers with one another.

"Kamijou, it's getting pretty late. You've… you've been here all night, come chill with us. Well, 'us' being those who managed to stay up. Nun, the Railgun, that spear girl who showed up with Kanzaki, and a bunch of other lovely ladies couldn't make it, just passed out. Heh… can't say I blame them. Long trip, and all, I'd probably be doing the same if I wasn't a nighthawk. So, come on, huh? I'll telepo…"

Kamijou Touma quickly broke the embrace. Raising his hands into the air, as if he was guilty of some crime which he'd been caught carrying out, he shook his head, no.

"Maybe we should just walk, Musujime. Your offer's really nice, and I appreciate it, but the last time you teleported me, my body go all scrambled. Seria had to keep an eye on me until, uh, my magnetic field reset. See, it's what holds me together."

Her cheeks turned a bright shade of pink, almost illuminating themselves in the blanket of night that'd come to consume all things.

"S-Sorry. I… Didn't know. You're good, right?"

"Yeah, perfectly. Magnetic field resets itself, if it isn't fucked with by electric interference. The conversation with Mikoto about that, holy Hell… that was awkward. "Hey, Misaka, can you please stop zapping me? The magnetic field that keeps me from turning into a pile of pudding will be fried, if you don't!"

Musujime Awaki swiftly took Kamijou Touma's hand into her own, and lead the being that'd once been a high school-aged boy along with her, approaching the alleyway squeezed between Havenshire's pharmacy and general store.

"I'll protect from that mean Railgun, don't fret, Kamijou~. Every he~ro needs a he~ro, sometimes."

Even as the two walked, Kamijou Touma took to Misaka Mikoto's defense.

"Well, to be completely fair, once I explained the whole thing to her, she understood and completely stopped hurling lightning at me. She… She took it all really well, a lot better than I expected."

Not turning to the side to face him – Kamijou Touma had taken to striding beside Musujime Awaki, as an equal, not a tag-along – and instead keeping her vision focused on the twisting, cobbled pathway in front of her, Awaki spoke her piece, in response.

"You need to stop thinking that you're some sort of freakish monster with bolts in your neck. Something shitty happened to you, and this is how you are now. You don't look any different from how you used to look, unless you get rid of your skin."

"That's nice of you to say that… Thanks."

"I think you're too handsome for your own good. With your hair combed all down like that? Uuuunnffff, hunk. Sheesh, I could… I could do some disgusting things to you. You seem confident to me, the way you talk to the… Eh-eh, the opposite sex, you strike me as someone who isn't about to be shoved around. That's so _fucking_ hot to me. It speaks volumes about who you are. You're someone I could get used to associating with. These last couple of days, crossing paths with you, they've been more exciting, more meaningful than the last damn year."

"Is that true?"

"It's true to me. I think you're someone who can take me places, help me open doors and find opportunities. GROUP? With GROUP, I'm lucky if I make a paycheck that doesn't bounce. It's… It's always the same thing. Take out these people who are giving our superiors problems, get rid of these people who could cause this stock to rise and this stock to fall… It's meaningless, it's a corporate sham."

Passing by a number of ratty, run-down sections of ventilation piping, most, if not all of which seemed to have once (or perhaps never) been intended to serve the motel, Musujime Awaki and Kamijou Touma continued on their way.

"There's always someone out to use someone else," Touma acknowledged. "It all comes down to a matter of whether you allow yourself to be fucked around with or not. Standing up to these people and saying "no" is an important step to take."

A short period passed, and, sooner than later, both parties found themselves nearing the desolate, nearly-skeletal, stillborn construction project that was struggling, trying and failing to pass itself off as a motel.

The Move Point user cast her gaze to the Imagine Breaker's former Bearer; the former teleported herself to the ground below, while the latter leapt without issue, landing upon his two feet, perfectly balanced with a powerful _thud_.

"I want to do something, be remembered for something… Something other than the shitty things I did to innocent people in the past. I want to be remembered as someone who did _something_ , anything, to further something positive. But, I want to have fun, too. I want to feel good, laugh, figure myself out. I've been doing a lot of that in my spare time."

Both parties were quite close to the structure that had the audacity to refer to itself as a 'motel'; Kamijou Touma couldn't quite figure out why the Amakusans even left a sign up at all. Advertising the ratty old thing was simply embarrassing. Musujime Awaki, for one, kept her gaze focused on the roof they'd just been sitting upon, which looked like it could collapse in on itself at any moment.

Indeed, what a lovely place to catch some restful Z's.

With the dingy, beaten entranceway doors some mere ten feet away from both Touma and Awaki, the former spoke his piece.

"I can't promise you that I can really do any of that. I wouldn't make that promise, because I don't even know all that much about myself. I think those are things you have to do on your own, but, if, while you're around me you should happen to find doors to open or happen to figure out something about yourself that you didn't already know… Well, then, I'm glad to have been of some use to someone."

Before she opened the thin, flimsy-looking barrier before her, mere moments before the Move Point user's hand fell upon the dingy thing's doorknob, she cast her gaze to the Imagine Breaker's former Bearer once more.

"I do know one thing for sure… I want to eventually kiss those lips of yours again, and I want to let you put those hands of yours all over me… With safe zones acknowledged, y'know, safe words, play it cool."

With a crooked, toothy grin plastered across her face, Awaki looked downward.

"For a handsome, 'oh so valiant he~ro' such as yourself, a reward… But not right now. I'm not about to jump into a bed with someone I barely know on a personal level. Sorry to disappoint, Kamijou, but I don't roll like that."

"No, no, that's a _good_ thing. I wouldn't have recommended it in the first place. It'd be more meaningful if we got to know one another a bit better, no?"

With a chuckle, she added onto her previously-vocalized words.

"Glad to know we're on the same page. Funnily enough, y'know, boys are usually more interested in other things. Like busting nuts and dipping out. I'm not about that dirty shit. Keep that goop to yourself, bust your nuts into a tissue or something."

"People of both genders can be pretty scummy," Touma spoke.

In response, Awaki shook her head, yes, affirmatively. Turning her hand to the right, she gently pushed the motel's flimsy front door open, and, with Kamijou Touma not far behind her, both parties stepped inside.

"Yeah, you're right. It's… Almost too easy to lay all the blame on boys. Sheesh, girls can do janky things too, like get themselves knocked up just for the sake of doing so, or to get themselves strapped with some quick cash from the City. It's all dirty business. Can't confirm it, but I've heard talk that those 'incidents' are partially responsible for the Child Error issue. Just going to assume, considering all the crazy stuff you've involved yourself in, that you've heard of Child Errors."

"Unfortunately," Touma responded, tone of voice growing softer; while he certainly absorbed the Move Point user's words, and wasn't about to leave her hanging in perpetual limbo without acknowledging this in-taking of knowledge, he was almost too taken aback by the state of the motel's interior to even properly respond.

Having entered the space which was intended to resemble some sort of lobby, Kamijou Touma observed and quickly made individual notes on several 'interesting objects' that dotted the premises. Aside from a less-than-serviceable service counter, crafted and carved from wooden materials of some sort, the rotten, mouldering carpeted flooring beneath he and Musujime Awaki's respective feet lead toward a lounge.

Though small, it wasn't overly cramped, nor was it attempting to overcompensate. For the purpose it served, it, in terms of size, wasn't all that poor, not by Touma's standards.

The physical state of what was found within was another matter, entirely.

The walls were practically falling apart. Sections of wooden beams were visible beneath what drywall remained. Tufts of insulation were blooming from within, like wild weed growths in a garden, so many unwanted blemishes.

Mounted upon what few sections of layered drywall remained were worn and faded watercolour portraits, depicting vast, surprisingly gorgeous and vaguely ethereal landscapes. Rolling fieldscapes with glowing, blue skies above, the flowing grasslands depicted with marigolds dotting their surfaces. One portrait appeared to have fallen into a crooked state of being, and depicted a large sailboat in open conflict with the waves of a particularly merciless sea. From above, as if hurled from the spiteful hand of some long-forgotten god, lightning descended in great, enormous and hideously jagged, almost misshapen bolts.

Containing among other pieces of furniture a set of tall, single seats, which looked to have been comfortable at one point in time, a total of five had at some point been placed around a small, round coffee table, whose thin, wooden legs, when compared to what the legs of a table _should've_ looked like, seemed thin and almost pathetically feeble. Nearby, there was a small study desk placed in the northernmost corner of the ratty lounge.

Slumped forward in their seats were Kumokawa Seria and Othinus. Shaking his head and quietly chuckling, Kamijou Touma approached.

The seat in which Othinus had chosen to rest looked have been pilfered from elsewhere in the desolate, perpetually-crumbling motel, given its size and decorative differences from the seat in which Seria had chosen to lay her posterior. Fast asleep, Othinus made no sound at all as he chest slowly rose and fell. Seria, on the other hand, softly snored, her fingers interlocked with those of the former Magic God.

"Sheesh. What kind of absurdist art were those two drawing? Could that be a "Magic Circle"? Kind of looks like one."

Kamijou Touma leaned forward. Having fully closed the distance between himself and the girls' chosen place of temporary residence, he observed the scrawling created by Kumokawa Seria and Othinus.

"It does look like one. Symbols are arranged in that way, though Index has told me there's more than one way to make a Magic Circle."

Though many pieces from a pad of paper had been utilized, most crinkled and tossed about the desk's aging, metallic surface, one and one alone seemed to have worked as the two had planned, whatever that plan had been.

Another possibility was entirely possible; the possibility dictating that there hadn't been any kind of plan at all, and that the scrawling had come about by a chance conversational encounter had to be considered, no matter how unlikely.

Why Kamijou Touma put such deep thought into the matter, not even he quite knew.

Allowing his converted higher mind to wander, data-gathering protocols continued to funnel as much information back to their 'master' as was possible for them.

As always, apparently, they were silent regarding the 'nature' of magic, and all details revolving around the 'Other Side'. They reported nothing and they knew nothing.

Musujime Awaki took a short breath, before she took to Kamijou Touma's side, and then spoke her piece.

"Well, I'm gonna hit the bed. Not going to sleep just yet, probably just dick around on my phone – can you believe this place has Wi-Fi? Sheesh, it barely looks like it has a functioning water tank. I'll be in 3-8, third floor, eighth room, if you want to chat, or just chill. Like I said, nighthawk."

"Let's just clear this up ahead of time. This isn't an " _invitation_ ", is it? Personally, I'd rather take it slow, too."

"Nah. When I say "chill" I mean "chill", and that's it. I mean… if you wanted to, like… Hold hands or something lame like that? I guess that's alright. Just nothing too crazy, y'know? I want to figure you out, he~ro boy. Tired of the flings."

He rested his hand upon her shoulder. Looking upward, Awaki raised an eyebrow, and offered Touma a small, though genuine grin, one of considerable and real mirth.

"It's all working, here," Touma remarked. With a shake of his head, yes, he removed his hand from where it'd come to rest. "Wanted to know what was what, so no 'misunderstandings' came out. Better to get it all out in the open and lay down the lines. An invitation like that, not an _"invitation"_ could pretty easily get lost in translation."

And, so, the resulting outcome wasn't so unexpected. When Musujime Awaki stood on her toes and placed a kiss to the lips of Kamijou Touma, it wasn't a complete shock, with their apparently ongoing conversation in mind.

"Thanks. I know that we don't really know each other that well, and, me being here might seem a bit strange to you magic-guys, but, I want to figure it out for myself. GROUP obviously wasn't going to tell me a thing about any of it. If this is going to give me the chance to make something out of myself, then, you can bet that I'm on board."

Touma observed on, as the Move Point user looked to her feet, either of her cheeks beginning to glow a bright shade of pink.

"Plus... S-Sheesh. What is it about you? You get me all awkward-like. It's real swell that you know where to draw lines and how to show a girl respect. 'Not something you see a lot, these days. So, yeah. Again. Thanks, Kamijou."

Just as she was about to perform the calculations required to utilize her ability on her own body, Awaki managed to catch herself, and proverbially skid to a metaphorically grinding halt. Looking up, she returned her gaze to the eyes of Kamijou Touma, who offered her a soft smile. With equal softness, she smiled back.

"Oh, hey, by the way, I almost forgot. The whole reason I went out to find you in the first place! Duh. Sheesh, my mind's all scrambled, like a bowl of eggs…"

"It happens to the best of us," Touma responded. Looking from side to side, his guard perpetually remained up, despite the relative tranquility of the situation in which he'd found himself.

With her left hand's index finger, Awaki pointed to the rotten service desk, some few feet behind her.

"That Kanzaki lady is downstairs. Your magic buddies are cool, but, this place, Kamijou, it's the shits. Can you believe this dump has a basement, that, you know, functions? I thought it would've collapsed. Anyway… I'm… off. So, er, cat'cha on the flip-side. Again, feel free to stop by whenever. If ya want, no pressure."

" _Sheesh… smooth moves, Awaki, smooooth moves. You're a regular charmer."_

There was no verbal response, at first. Kamijou Touma merely opened his arms; a silent offer. It was one which was taken by the Move Point user, who returned the offer in kind. A two-way embrace was formed.

"If you can't tell, I'm fond of hugs."

"Eheheh… Hugging cute girls, at least. Personally, I think it's adorable, so feel free to ask for a hug at any time. Night-night, "Kami-yan."

Within a mere moment, Touma found his arms empty, wrapped around nothing save oxygenated air. Lacking anything to embrace, they fell back to his sides.

While he would've liked nothing more than to seek out the Move Point user and chat the night's darkness away with her, perhaps even have her fall asleep in his arms, there were questions that floated through Kamijou Touma's converted her mind, unable to be answered by his data-gathering protocols, which seemed incapable of even comprehending magic.

Touma needed genuine answers, and, in the situation in which he'd found himself, he'd need to get them he old-fashioned way.

Kanzaki Kaori awaited him.


	39. Saint Kanzaki Kaori

London, England, United Kingdom.  
February 10th, 2004. 10:16 PM.

The enormous, multi-levelled private jet had departed, following the 'dislodging' of its most recent 'load', the 'load' in question being, in fact, Tsuchimikado Motoharu and the Aztec magician Etzali. The airborne monstrosity that could block out the very sky when looming over a settlement, the ugly, misshapen product of technology placed into the hands of some madman from Academy City had come not to rest but instead to pilot itself in the absence of human control, returning to the walled City from whence it came with only its exhausted crew on board, most of whom were more than likely in the throes of deep slumber, attempting to shake off their most recent excursion.

As two of GROUP's members made headway towards St. George's Cathedral, no words were exchanged between them.

And, so, while 'smooth' wasn't a term that could be accurately used to describe the proceedings, when Tsuchimikado Motoharu's phone began to buzz in his pocket, he was loathe to scavenge for the device and answer the incoming attempt at two-way communication.

Further instabilities weren't required.

Still, perhaps it wasn't all bad. Maybe the Accelerator had picked up some useful information? Maybe he'd taken the smart route, and hadn't charged head-first into a figurative viper's den of magicians and espers alike without careful consideration.

Better yet, maybe he'd managed to lay out that psychotic serial murderer, Kamijou. If anyone could do it, it would be Accelerator.

With an almost surprising echo of hope pulsing within him, the Backstabbing Blade pulled out his cellular phone, answered the incoming attempt at two-way communication, and practically slapped the device's touchscreen interface against the side of his cheek.

"TTTTSSSSUUUUCCCHHHHIIIIIIMMMMMMMMMMIIIIIIIKKKKKKAAAAAAAADDDDDDDDDDDDOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!"

Even from the cellular phone's small and, by its owner's own admission, dinky external speaker, the feral screech uttered by the number one strongest esper surged forth, reverberating, and causing the Backstabbing Blade's tympanic membrane to vibrate, so forceful was the unseen magnitude of the vocalization.

The Aztec magician tilted his head, an eyebrows raised; across his face, an expression of concern had been hastily painted by the muscles beneath his false face's skin.

"Nice talking to you, too. What have you…"

"THAT GODDAMN FUCKING PIECE OF SHIT! CHOPPED MY GODDAMN ARMS OFF, CHOPPED THE FUCKING THINGS!"

The Accelerator's panting could've pointed to a number of outcomes. Forcing himself to remain calm, huffing in bouts of oxygenated air through his nose, and then ejecting carbon dioxide from within his mouth, Tsuchimikado Motoharu exchanged glances with the Aztec magician.

"Kami-yan did it, didn't he, that fucking… psycho, goddamn it all. Be glad he didn't chop your neck, or turn you inside out. Are you bleeding out?"

"NO! No… no. Not… fucking… bleeding. Closed the vein endings, rerouted my… goddamn… blood flow, and managed to… stick some of the tendons back in. Had to… fucking just yank some out, useless now. Had to use my shirt to wrap the wound, I'm gonna need disinfectant and a fucking… Drink. Tadpoles in the goddamn water around here. Fuck. I don't even fucking know where I am, can't use my ability much. Fucking hurts, everything hurts like a bitch."

"Fucking…"

Hurling from within his mouth a glob of spit, out from between his lips and onto the pavement beneath his feet, Tsuchimikado Motoharu began to scan his eyes' vision over the structures lining London's sprawling urban environments. In the singular suburban neighbourhood through which the trio passed, closest to St. George's Cathedral, a maze of perfect streets, cobbled walkways, multistory homes and blooming upper-middle class dreams, one street alone must've been host to hundreds of structures, residential and business-oriented alike.

Nothing was going according to plan. It had all gone to Hell.

Then, however, in his frustration, an idea formed. From where it'd originated and from where it drew inspiration, the Backstabbing Blade couldn't have cared any less. Both were irrelevant subjects. His gaze turned to Etzali, while, on the other end, Accelerator babbled and cussed like a raging, steroid-enhanced sailor.

"Oi, you manage to find anything that Accelerator-chan has owned? Going to need to borrow it, real quick."

* * *

Bristol, England, United Kingdom.  
February 10th, 9:48 PM.

A short period of time had passed, since the Imagine Breaker's former Bearer had parted ways with the Move Point user. Having followed her 'directions', if the simple pointing of a finger could be considered directions, Kamijou Touma had found himself in a certain situation.

Something surprising, an element unknown had come to descend to his vision, making itself known to him. He hadn't sought it out, but, he'd crossed paths with it, nonetheless. It was something unexpected, something that didn't quite fit the bill.

In fairness, there was plenty that he could say regarding surprises, and the experience of being surprised. Touma had assumed he'd seen everything there was to see, that the 'abandoned' motel, Hawkhaven was, indeed, nothing more than run-down shithole that'd come to be a base of operations for the Amakusa-style Remix of Church.

It was more than that. There was something deeper, something previously unseen. Perhaps this feeling was further bloated, heightened by the fact that that damnable feeling of being observed from afar had returned. Kamijou Touma searched about as best he could, but found nothing anomalous.

Kazakiri Hyouka could be ruled out of the equation; she was more than likely with Index, who was more than likely explaining plenty about the nature of the world hidden even from she who dwelled within the Imaginary Number District.

That didn't solve the problem, though. Hardly at all; if it wasn't born of Hyouka's invisible presence, then just what was the nature of the feeling? Deprived of answers, frustration attempted to worm its way into Kamijou Touma's higher mind.

It was denied entry, and forcibly repelled.

And so, regardless of the fact that he was almost certainly being observed by something, Touma pushed forward. Forcibly opening the unassuming and rather unsightly wooden door located next to the rotting, unmanned service desk, what lay within was not a series of ugly, mouldering halls, or a rotting staircase.

There was indeed a staircase, but it was hardly what Touma had imagined it would've, could've, or, perhaps even should've been, nor was there a hall of any kind present. In fact, the doorway hadn't even lead into a space that could've been considered a passageway.

Surrounded by concave brickwork walling, the staircase lead downwards, and as Touma approached, observing the finer details through his eyes of machine-phase matter and his detached nanorobotic scouting units, it looked to spiral downwards. The small enclosure of concave brickwork walls, ceiling and limited flooring was fully illuminated by proper lightning fixtures, beaming golden, synthetic light down upon the being who'd once been a 'normal high school boy'.

Apparently, Hawkhaven possessed a functioning source of electricity. Musujime Awaki _did_ mention that she'd managed to connect her smartphone to a wireless connection. That was one mystery settled.

Kamijou Touma observed the ornately-designed and surprisingly urbanely designed staircase for a moment, before he stepped down onto it.

Not crafted from wooden materials at all, as the rest of the structures, both inside and out that dotted Hawkhaven seemed to be, it was like something straight out of Academy City itself.

For a while, he followed the twisting and spiralling staircase, keeping several nanorobotic scouting units nearby, each consistently and repeatedly scanning the environment around them. According to their reports, the brickwork walling surrounding him and the slanted, continuously sloping ceiling above were not abnormal in any way, shape or form. Of limestone origin, likely pulled from a quarry, the individual bricks had been altered in coloration only. Traces of paint were identified by Kamijou Touma's ever-loyal scouts, multiple layers of paint, in fact.

The staircase, too apparently held no secrets, interesting or otherwise. Forged from steel, its chemical makeup was not out of the ordinary. It was evidently not constructed using any sort of anomalous or unidentifiable means, having likely been welded together, either through the involvement of modern machinery or perhaps welded through the use of a skilled welder's torch.

This made enough sense to Touma, given the modus operandi of Hawkhaven's 'interesting' occupants. Perhaps they'd adopted the concept of 'hiding in plain sight'? This was his initial reasoning, and, for a moment he was about to stick with it; the conversation he was having with his own converted higher mind slowly became less of a conversation, and more of a debate.

Then, said reasoning quickly fell apart, once logic was applied to the situation, the cracks in the theory rooted out and exposed for what they were.

A secretive and masked area, no matter how small located in a dusty, crumbling motel was hardly a site which could be considered to be found in 'plain sight', by any means.

Finally, his tedious mental exercises found themselves able to end. No longer did Kamijou Touma find himself with mere bricks and a metallic staircase to keep him company and sate his converted higher mind's desire to explore and make notes.

Before him was a large, considerably imposing and reinforced door. Carved from wood materials and reinforced with great, flattened beams, each mounted to the door's otherwise flimsy frame with almost absurdly large bolts, the door had been fully opened, and if appearances were to be believed, lead into a space of unknown purpose and equally unknown origin, bathed in synthetic, generated light which painted and accented the brickwork flooring beneath him.

Taking a step forward, Kamijou Touma 'crossed' from one 'side', and into another. The doorway separated one proverbial realm from another.

Simplistic, perhaps even 'savage' architecture, mere brickwork and steel had given way to something else entirely. Beyond the reinforced door with the simplistic wood-carved doorway was something pulled straight from the swirling, sugar-laced depths of a child's dreamscape.

Almost entirely concave, the ceilings, flooring and walls looked as if they'd been forcibly pushed outwards, like the surface of a soda can that'd been stepped on and partially flattened.

Constructed with golden, sparkling brickwork, each individual brick that made up the concave walling was adorned with complex, intricate carvings displaying queer-looking beings; indeed, things that almost resembled a cross between an insect and a human being. The elements, if any used in the concave space's construction were unknown to Kamijou Touma, whose deployed nanorobotic scouts had become silent. They reported nothing, save the presence of oxygenated air within the concave space, and the elements that often accompanied it.

He looked upward, tilting his head, and adjusting his eyes' vision. From the ceilings, many enormous, metallic beams, each a soft hue of gold seemed to hang limply; from them there numerous bulb-like protrusions that were visible, and many produced soft, glowing light. How such small things could illuminate an entire, massive room, Kamijou Touma didn't know.

Though he observed as best he could with his own two eyes of machine-phase matter, he could identify no secrets and solve no riddles, if any riddles were indeed present there.

Depicted on the individual bricks, the images were accompanied by blocks of what looked like the alphabet of an unknown written tongue. Lacking punctuation of any kind, these blocks were both above and below the images. Resembling the hypothetical result of Arabic alphabetical letters being combined with Korean characters, the vaguely runic letters may as well have been scribbles. If they were in fact supposed to represent words of a language, their meaning could not be interpreted by the Imagine Breaker's former Bearer.

As he found himself falling back into the grasp of his own thoughts, returning to a conversation with his converted mind that he'd thought to have been abandoned, Touma was interrupted, his pattern of observation, consideration and internal debate broken by the soft tones of a vocalization. Throughout the concave space, the spoken words echoed.

"Fascinating, isn't it, Kamijou-san? Quite unlike anything you've ever seen before… I felt the same way, when we first crossed paths with the Ahnk'ji, one of whom stands here, before you. Remain calm, he does not seek to cause harm. He's a friend."

From the centre of the concave space, Kanzaki Kaori, the Saint of the Far East had approached, though she was not the only individual present. Both Itsuwa and Tatemiya Saiji had evidently accompanied Kanzaki Kaori. The former offered Touma a warm, welcoming wave, while the latter merely nodded his head affirmatively.

She wasn't alone. Although accompanied by other human beings, Kanzaki Kaori was accompanied by something else as well, something beyond the scope of Kamijou Touma's understanding, something beyond the realm of humanity, and its collective understanding of the world the specie walked upon.

Entirely aqua blue in coloration, with many darkened specks upon its form, the insectoid existence stood erect, with a total of six elongated, but gracefully curled legs emerging from beneath its tall, slender form. Long, silky bolts of cloth dangled from its shell, and from its upper torso, each lavender, and each possessed thin, golden trim.

These six limbs the insectoid creature possessed were covered in thin, delicate little hairs; while there were not enough to completely mask the aqua blue coloration of the carapace beneath, the collective was thick enough to be noticeable, especially when highlighted, and accented beneath the synthetic light that beamed throughout the concave space. All six of these curled limbs were decorated with numerous, ornate bands, each of which had many carvings upon their surfaces, the letters of an unknown alphabet, and the words of a language which Touma could not comprehend, identical to the alphabetical characters that partially dotted the carvings on the concave walls. From the top of its head, two long, thin, singular antennae fell, and reached its ornately-designed midsection. Its eyes, with their golden irises and their catlike pupils glowed unnaturally, as they moved about within the sockets of its gumdrop-shaped head.

Perhaps Touma should've been frightened, horrified even. Perhaps he should've reeled away and cried out, "what is that thing?!" or something of the sort. Any cry of shock would've sufficed, if such was the case. Maybe he could've, if he wished to do so, or if he remained as what he'd once been, maybe he would've. Such was hypothetical.

Yet, despite all of these factors, hypothetical or otherwise, Touma was in no position to do so. Kamijou Touma felt no fear, very little surprise, and only mild confusion, with a general lack of understanding.

Stumbling upon strange, even disturbing things was nothing new, not for him, not for the being that was no longer human, no longer a 'normal high school boy'.

He had befriended a sentient collection of AIM Diffusion Fields, he had been dragged through thousands of worlds specifically designed to tear asunder the very fabric of his mind by an all-powerful Magic God, and he had punched an Archangel in the face. He had faced down Saints, and the strongest esper in the entire world.

An abnormally tall insect-human hybrid abomination was not the strangest thing that Kamijou Touma had seen. The real surprise lay in the fact that the insectoid creature didn't seem bent on assaulting him.

Having stared him down for some time, the insectoid creature then spun its head in place, 'rolling' it three hundred and sixty degrees.

Leaning forward, it crossed its two frontal legs across one another, balancing on its remaining four. From within its decorated shell, which protruded from its back, an elongated and pointed limb emerged on either side of its armoured torso. The insectoid creature clacked them together repeatedly, and bobbed its odd, gumdrop-shaped head repeatedly.

Touma could only assume that his was some kind of greeting ritual, not unlike two businessmen shaking hands. He was, in fact, right on the money. The insectoid creature was indeed extending a greeting, one of ancient Ahnk'ji tradition, and of the highest honour.

For a few moments, it seemed to struggle, uncomfortably turning from left to right before it shook its head, as if in exasperation. Two small, clacking jaws in the centre of the creature's face parted, and from within many queer tendril-like protrusions emerged. As they whipped about, moving in conjunction with the movements of its jaws, harsh, heavily-accented vocalizations were produced.

"I cannot speak to this one. Its mind is not opened, Or perhaps, more to the point, there appears to be no mind in which I might communicate."

The insectoid creature and the Imagine Breaker's former Bearer exchanged glances, for a moment. Loathe to offend the creature, Touma would've sweated, if such an act was still possible for him to perform.

"You seem shocked. Yes, I speak your language, human. Many of them in fact, your species' "English" simply happens to be closest in its linguistic and alphabetical structure to our own Ahnkah, hence my preference for this particular human tongue. Forgive my accent, if you would, the structural makeup of my mode of physical speech is far different in its construction when compared to and alongside your species' own."

Thinking proverbially on his toes, Touma's converted mind quickly attempted to slap together a reply; something, anything that would show the creature he acknowledged its previous nonverbal greeting, and the fact that he'd heard the creature's disjointed, broken English proclamations.

"U… Uh huh, it's er, good to meet you too? Don't mean to seem bigoted, I'm not trying to seem like that, but, I've never seen anything quite like you before. Hey, look, that's fine. I'm different, too. So, we're… er, kind of in the same boat, then."

"I would not imply you to be bigoted. Your relative ease of speech and your lack of inborn, instinctual fear reflects an understanding and tolerant state of being. My physical appearance, by your own species' gaze is frightening, perhaps, as yours might be to a Ewephyte who has laid his eyes upon the human form for the first time.

"Many insultingly make quick comparisons of your species to the great apes, yet, unlike those mere beasts, your species is, in and of itself, a nigh-infinite font of untapped potential. Your specie, still in its infancy, has escaped the confines of its cradle, laid footsteps upon this world's moon, and upon worlds near and distant. Indeed, you have accomplished so very much. We are so proud."

Ascending the smooth, sloping surface which lead downward, towards the centre of the golden space with its many carvings, the Saint had closed the distance between them, and approached the Once-Bearer of the Imagine Breaker.

"Kanzaki," Touma remarked, tone of voice practically dripping with exasperation, "it's really good to see you. Fuck, I've missed you… So much, but, I'm completely, _completely_ lost. I'd love to talk a bit more casually, chat about how things have been, but I _need_ answers. I need to know what's happening, so I can figure out what I'm doing, and how I'm going to do it. I'm also curious about your friend here."

"I understand completely… I can only imagine how confused you must be. I promise that, no matter what, you're safe here."

"I don't distrust you, but you're going to explain everything, right?"

"Of course. It's why I had Saint Lessar and Thomson-san divert your course, and deliver you from the hands of an English Puritan lackey."

"English Puritan…" the insectoid creature cryptically interjected, "a mere label, an umbrella term which villains lurk beneath, a problem, indeed; one which, if left to its own schemes will help to undo everything."

Kamijou Touma chose to 'conveniently' ignore the insectoid creature's words, however true they might've been. That creature wasn't the focus of his attention.

"Holy shit, Kanzaki, that's great… look, if I sound like I'm panicking, I'm not."

"You'd suggest that panicking is a bad thing, Kamijou Touma?"

"Depends on the situation, I'm more used to knowing things quickly, being able to gather info, but… can't really do that right now and it's getting to me pretty bad."

"I'm sorry. If there's anything at all that I can do…"

"Help me make sense of all this? Not just this, but, the whole situation. I thought we were supposed to be beating up on this "Spring-Heeled Jack" guy, but Agnese-san says you're with him. Also, he's a demon or something? Nobody mentioned anything about this. What about Birdway? Was Tsuchim… the snake just pulling nonsense out of his ass?"

Touma didn't receive a verbal response from his Saintly conversational partner, not at first.

Instead, Kanzaki Kaori took him into her arms, and embraced him as tightly as she possibly could. Nearly straining her own arms' muscles, the Saint of the Far East calmly placed the side of her face against his breast of machine-phase matter.

Though they stood against a sloping surface, both the Saint and the being who'd once been a 'normal high school boy' fought tooth and nail against the laws of gravity, which demanded them both to unceremoniously tumble.

From below, the insectoid creature silently observed. Human courtship rituals were very queer things, without a doubt.

And so with Yin, there had to exist a corresponding Yang. Within Kanzaki Kaori's mind, there was less clarity. Instead, replacing the elements of understanding and solid fact was a matter which needed to be tended to, a claim which needed to be proven true or false.

Resting her hand upon Kamijou Touma's right breast, she laid her palm flat, and felt for a pulse, for a beating, drumming heart.

Where a heart should've been beating, there was nothing, not even a single thud.

Index had been right. Why was the entire world out to make him suffer?

Why him, of all people? Why him, he who had stuck his neck out for the innocent time and time again, and even for those who weren't innocent? Couldn't the world find someone more deserving to pick on?

The very thought wracked Kanzaki Kaori's mind. It might as well have been another metaphorical blade, one among so many.

There was only one place for the negativity to go, and that was out.

So, in response, as if by convenience, Kamijou Touma swiftly took notice.

"Kan… zaki? Heeyyy, come on, now. Why are you crying? A face like yours is too perfect to be stained by tears, so chin up, beautiful. Whatever's wrong, we'll take care of it together. You think I'm going to back out? Nope, not me, I'm here until the problem's solved, and the bad guys are laid out. You think that all of this is too crazy for me or something like that? _Please_ , this is nothing."

Even as Kanzaki Kaori's lips curled upwards, into a warm and genuine smile, there was salty, liquid agony dripping down either of her cheeks. From the corners of her eyes they fell, rolling down her soft features, past her lips and downwards, onto her single-sleeved denim jacket.

"I've heard tales of your suffering, Kamijou Touma, your many passions. I'd like for you to know that I too have suffered. I too have felt great pains, and I, too have had many a knife dug into my flesh, their blades then cruelly pulled about. For myself, I hold rage which I choose not to act upon in my heart. For you, I hold grief. You are utterly precious to me, and to Index."

"You're precious to me, too, Kanzaki. _So_ precious."

"The way she talks about you… She adores you, simply put. It's only through you that we are able to rekindle our friendship once lost. The harm this unjust world has visited upon you pains me, but I yet push on despite it, because someone has to."

Kamijou Touma could push onward, regarding his inquiries, but, such would be cold even by his own admission. There would be time to further question, later.

Instead of pushing forward on that front, he did so through another, proverbially changing trajectories.

"Who hurt you, Kanzaki? Who caused you pain? You should tell me. Tell me who did it, and _we'll_ make them pay, together, the two of us. I'll bleed them dry, if you can't do it yourself. I know that you've got certain rules, and whatnot, but I don't have anything holding me back. I'm more than ready to be a proxy."

It was then, as he looked onward, with the Saint of the Far East held tightly in his embrace, that Touma noticed a piece of furniture in the centre of the concave space, where its sloping surfaces ended, and gave way to a flat section of golden brickwork flooring.

There was a great table, light and golden in coloration, like all other physical elements within the concave space. Elongated, like something found within the dining hall of an aristocrat's manor-home on some cliff somewhere, overlooking a thrashing ocean, there were numerous pieces of furniture surrounding the table, though some looked stranger than others. Some were 'regular' seats, with four legs and tall, ornate backrests, while others seemed to strangely lack backrests of any kind, and possessed only two legs. These queer seats were situated between the 'normal' seats, spread about seemingly at random. Presumably, these strange seats were those that Kanzaki Kaori's 'unique' compatriot would use.

If what Agnese Sanctis said was truth, then there were more of these insectoid creatures roaming about. These 'Ahnk'ji'.

Straying, his eyes' vision drifted further upwards, focusing upon the table's surface. Laid across it was something that resembled a tablecloth. Many small, chess-like pieces were placed about on this tablecloth that almost certainly wasn't actually a tablecloth.

Finally, after a period of extended silence, spent with her head rested against Kamijou Touma's breast, Kanzaki Kaori managed to reign in her emotions, force herself to stand upright, and speak.

"I am not the important one, here. The fact that I was harmed is irrelevant to the situation at hand. I allowed it, willingly, because I foolishly believed I had no other alternative.

"The harm I suffered is irrelevant. I desire vengeance not for myself, but for the human race which has been wronged time and time again, and… For my dear friend, Index, who has been for too long the brunt of the religious establishment's cruelty and injustice.

"For all of these long years I've betrayed the very concept of my own Magic Name… I ramble, Kamijou Touma, and yet you must only be growing more confused, my apologies."

With a soft clearing of her throat, Kanzaki Kaori turned her back to Kamijou Touma, and wordlessly commanded him to follow in her footsteps, with a wave of her hand.

Though he did so, he did not join her in her apparent, temporary vow of silence.

"Tsuchimikado, that goddamn snake, he's hinted at knowing who fucked with Index's head, pardon my language, bad force of habit. If he knows, does that mean…?"

"Before I speak any names, let us start the tale from the beginning, from where many tales choose to begin; from the very beginning, before you or I were even born, before you or I had even come to exist in our mothers' wombs as a collection of so many cells."

With the sloping surface having been conquered, both the Saint of the Far East and the Imagine Breaker's former Bearer found flat flooring, in the dead centre of the concave space. As Touma observed the concave walls surrounding him, they seemed to twist, and spin, and perpetually drift from one side, and to the other.

At the farthest end of the table, Kanzaki Kaori took her vigil. Placing the palms of her hands upon the table's golden surface, she looked downward, toward the tablecloth that wasn't a tablecloth.

It was anything _but_ a simple tablecloth.

Upon further inspection, it was revealed to Kamijou Touma to be a detailed map, complete with shrubbery and bodies of water, coloured with great attention paid to detail. Viewed from a top-down perspective, many small pieces, likely pilfered from a board game were placed about, situated on specific areas of the landscapes depicted on the map.

Some few moments after Touma took his place at the table, following the example set by others, including Kaori and Tatemiya Saiji, another member of the ragtag party took to his side. An arm found itself snaking its way around his shoulders, and he was pulled downwards.

Leaning in, Itsuwa spoke softly, with glowing red cheeks; barely capable of holding back laughter, she seemed to struggle at even inhaling oxygenated air.

"Touma-san, I see your… Conquests… Are still ongoing… Just how many girls are you going to woo?! Are you going to have our whole Parish under your benevolent wing?! First, them, and then what, the entire world? Is this some scheme to create a Master Race?!"

Then, Itsuwa broke. Stumbling away from an amused Touma and throwing her head back, she cackled aloud like a wicked witch, ripped straight from some classic horror film.

Even as the Amakusan's outbursts 'damaged' the moment, Kanzaki Kaori couldn't seem to help but chuckle softly, more to herself than to anyone else. The insectoid creature who'd remained oddly silent clacked its jaws together. Perhaps this was the creature's way of 'laughing'? Touma could only wildly guess.

Its suddenly broken period of extended 'silence' was not true one of silence at all, outwardly, perhaps but not inwardly.

Within its mind, the insectoid creature exchanged in a lengthy verbal debate with others, through a specie-wide, shared and meticulously evolved telepathic 'network', something comparable to the hive mind that was the Misaka Network. Though naturally generated through natural selection's evolutionary process, and not born of science's synthetic miracles, this telepathic 'network' operated similarly in concept.

Turning, Touma faced Itsuwa, who'd just barely managed to keep herself from falling over. Adorned in a simple cyan-coloured, flannel shirt and a pair of light-coloured Capris, her feet were clad in bunny slippers, of all the footwear she could've chosen to slip herself into. Matching the coloration of her flannel shirt, large, fluffy ears protruded from the individual pieces of footwear.

"Itsuwa… It's great to see you again. Shit, it's been a while, hasn't it? Can you make me a promise?"

"Maybe, it depends entirely on what that promise is."

"Never change, okay?"

"I'll try, Touma-san. What if I'm inexplicably struck by a sudden and unexpected onset of crippling depression? Or what if I undergo insane amounts of character development and become a dark, brooding girl with a fedora and a trench coat, with a tragic backstory and tons of emotional baggage? I could have entire story arc!"

There was a chance that the exchange could've continued; as much as the Saint of the Far East, the Priestess of the Amakusa-style Remix of Church would've liked nothing more than to see someone as upbeat as Itsuwa attempt to lighten the darkened mood, there were issues that needed to be addressed.

With a sigh, Kaori spoke her piece.

"Itsuwa, I'm going to have to ask you to settle yourself down. There is a lot for us to go over with Kamijou Touma, and, given the late hour, time is of the essence. We've a lot to accomplish in an absurdly short period of time."

Though she could've continued for hours upon end, Itsuwa obliged. With a gentle clearing of her throat, Itsuwa stepped back, and neared the table, separating herself physically from Kamijou Touma, who offered her a wink, and a nod.

As if she was in on some secret, Itsuwa offered Touma the same acts in return. A frustrated Saiji merely shook his head and clicked his tongue, continually peering down at the map below her, stretched across the surface of the table.

As much as Kanzaki Kaori would've preferred for the mood to remain lightened, such a thing just wasn't possible. It would have to be forcibly darkened.

"Kamijou Touma," Kaori spoke softly, with a deliberate and firm tone of voice. Looking to the Imagine Breaker's former Bearer, the boy, who, if Index's words were true (and all signs certainly pointed to this being the case) was no longer a boy at all, she felt the beginnings of liquid agony's second attempt at descent.

With a soft huff, she took to blinking it back, the Saint's vision locked with Kamijou Touma's own.

"Firstly, there are introductions."

Turning her gaze to the insectoid creature, Kaori smiled warmly in its direction, and beckoned it forward with a wave of her hand.

And so it responded. It began to move forward, the pointed, sharpened tips of its footless legs clacking against the golden brickwork flooring beneath it. With its arm-like protrusions having retreated into its shell, the insectoid creature almost looked as if it lacked any sort of upper limbs.

"Kamijou Touma," Kanzaki Kaori casually greeted, keeping her gaze focused on the insectoid creature that neared her, "this is Prophet Skoram. Among the Ahnk'ji peoples, a "prophet" is what an ambassador would be in our own culture, a representative. He and his peoples are part of the reason why we're here, acting as we are."

Suddenly, as if she'd flipped some switch within her brain, Kanzaki Kaori ceased to speak Japanese, and spoke in fluent English, turning her gaze to the insectoid creature.

"Honoured Prophet, this is him, Touma Kamijou, who you've heard so very much about."

Given its previously 'failure', if failure had been what it truly was, the insectoid creature apparently chose not to verbally respond. Instead, it looked to Kaori, whose gaze remained focused on the creature's facial features, or, more accurately, the lack thereof. Without eyebrows, a nose or lips, the insectoid creature's face was more akin to a blank slate with two eyes.

What occurred, Kamijou Touma couldn't have possibly known. Nanorobotic scouts that fluttered invisibly around him delivered only basic environmental information, and data regarding Kanzaki Kaori's brainwave activities. She didn't seem troubled, as these brainwaves did not spike beyond normal rates of ebb and flow.

What he couldn't have known was that a mental exchange occurred, a delivering of information from one party and two another; something akin to the abilities known as "Mental Out" and "Mental Stinger", utilizing very similar mechanics. Though derived through differing circumstances, and utilized in different means, the similarities remained present.

" _Kaori" of "Clan" "Kanzaki", this one's mind is simply not average, and therefore I find that I cannot reach out to him as I do to the rest of your specie, those of whom I've been granted the pleasure of encountering thus far. I would much prefer to communicate through the mode of Enlightened Speech. Might I request a favour? I will require a translator."_

" _Of course, Honoured Prophet, I'll do my best to transcribe your words to our friend. Even if you are unable to enter his mind and speak to him yourself, trust in our word. The Amakusa are in his debt. The world is in his debt. He is a kind and caring person."_

" _Awakened?"_

" _He would likely stand in solidarity with the goals your people have, and the future you desire to see humanity uphold, rest easy, Honoured Prophet."_

While Prophet Skoram and Saint Kanzaki Kaori exchanged words mentally, Kamijou Touma had only recently taken to Itsuwa's side. Leaning in, he spoke softly into the Amakusan's ear.

"Look, I have to ask. What's with your friend? I assume it's a friend of yours, at least. I've seen some crazy shit, but this is pretty "out there."

Then, as if she was a father about to give his son the talk about the nature of the birds and the bees, Itsuwa wrapped her arm around Touma's shoulder, and shook her head, no.

"Ahnk'ji. They're real old, like, older than our ancient ancestors and our ancestors go back millions of years; but I'm sure you know that. You live in Academy City, after all.

"Humanity is millions of years? Itsuwa, humanity is only a few hundred thousand years old."

"Liiiieeessss~, lies and slander! That figures, though, honesty never has been one of the establishment's strong points. To make a long story a bit less long, the Ahnk'ji bug-guys are trying to help humanity achieve peace and become "Awakened", which basically means evolving. It's all hippie stuff, but, really, they're good people."

"People?"

"Yeah, people, they've got a society and everything, huge underground cities, and all sorts of crazy technology, stuff that would make your head spin. What they have makes Academy City's tech look like junk from the first American Civil War. Can you believe that they're genderless? They're asexual, they literally screw themselves! That's why the Priestess usually refers to Skoram as "xe", it's their pronoun. Physically, they almost remind me of this one bug Tatemiya-kun and I found one time, under a rock… it had, like, eighty legs! The little bum hissed at us, too!"

Turning her gaze, Itsuwa looked to her slipper-clad feet. Kamijou Touma's eyes followed.

"Speaking of bugs – feel free to call the Ahnk'ji guys "bugs" or "bug-guys", by the by, by, by, they think it's hilarious – one of their cities is right under us, actually! This is just sort of a gateway, an entrance point.

"The pictures on the wall, they all tell a story, if you know how to look at them. It's the story of how the Ahnk'ji found this place, and why they decided to build one of their cities here. You have to learn the language to get it, too; Skoram would teach you if you asked xim. Don't tell anyone about that, though. They've been friends with us for a while, but… Lately… We humans have been doing some bad things, so, they want to help."

"They're not wrong about that, Itsuwa. Humanity's _fucked_. If they think they can help get us out of the ditch, get us to stop killing each other, then, Hell, I think we should take all the help that we can get. They should talk to our retarded governments."

"Touma-san, it's not quite that simple…"

Though the exchange between Itsuwa and Kamijou Touma could've potentially continued, ever-spiralled down a proverbial rabbit hole, Kanzaki Kaori, having become mentally 'available' once more, interjected and turned her gaze to the Imagine Breaker's former Bearer, and to the Amakusan she-warrior Itsuwa.

"Kamijou Touma, since Prophet Skoram is incapable of speaking to you telepathically, which is his main form of communication with others of his people, and by extension with us, I'll be acting as a translator. Let's begin, as time is, as ever, of the essence. I did manage to briefly overhear Itsuwa's abridged version of our relationship with the Ahnk'ji, and, truthfully, abridged or not, she described the situation more eloquently than I ever could."

"P-Priestess, y-you're too kind!"

"Have you ever been regaled with the tale of the 'espers of old'? Likely not, it is a part of our species' history that relevant parties would much prefer to be lost to time's flows."

"It's not mentioned all that often," Touma remarked, shifting his nanorobotic body's controlled weight about. "Some in my class have asked. Not even our teacher, Komoe-sensei seemed to be able to properly recall it. She did mention something about rock formations and something else about Stonehenge."

Kaori nodded, affirmatively, and then gently shook her head, as if to silently say "figures".

"As I'd assume; to make a long story slightly shorter, as Itsuwa has already done for us, they wielded magic, the force conjured by those who were envious of the espers' power freely, which, understandably, aggravated the 'magicians of old', though, not enough to spark conflict. Perhaps there is some limited, revolutionist lore in Academy City's history books, but… Such simply isn't true. Any tales you have been told of how espers came into the world are false, Kamijou Touma."

As Touma's vision wandered, he noticed some anomalous happenings. Itsuwa seemed to tense up, becoming oddly and highly uncharacteristically uncomfortable, at least physically. Saiji seemed stoic, as always, continually jotting something down onto a small pad of paper with a ball-point pen he'd taken to grasping, occasionally looking up to observe the placement of the various game board pieces that had been spread across the map. He seemed utterly indifferent, regarding the proceedings.

"The power of the esper was not developed. It was given to us, it was taught to us."

Then, a cog in the machine, a monkey wrench forcibly grinding the proceedings to a halt.

Once more, the feeling of being observed; seemingly Kamijou Touma wasn't the only individual affected. Itsuwa looked about, seemingly perturbed. Even the stoic Tatemiya Saiji looked up from his work, whatever work that was and raised an eyebrow. Exchanging glances with Itsuwa, the Substitute Supreme Pontiff clicked his tongue once more.

"Hey… Something's off. Touma-san, nobody followed you down here, right? We're not going to have "surprise bad guy with a hood and a sneaky weapon number seven hundred and fifty" pop out, are we?"

Like clockwork, her hand fell. Kaori gripped the hilt of her Shichiten Shichitou. Brow furrowing, the Saint spoke no more words. Instead, her eyes moved about in her head, as she silently observed her surroundings.

Inside of her mind, prophet Skoram spoke.

" _Kaori" of "Clan" "Kanzaki", if there is an assailant who has found their way into Ahnk'Kiraj I am incapable of visualizing them."_

" _I'm not certain if an assailant or an otherwise curious member of Touma Kamijou's entourage has found their way in. Honoured Prophet, no matter what, the Amakusa will protect you."_

" _Child, do not be so anxious, so eager to leap upon our foes and fight battles rightfully our own. Though warmly welcomed, we do not require your protection. I most certainly do not. Rest calmly and await the unveiling of this incident's true nature. Those of your species are always so eager to make war. Try peace, "Kaori" of clan "Kanzaki". Try peace."_

So, even as all fell silent, it was Kamijou Touma who broke the otherwise deafening lack of vocalizations.

"Look, Kazakiri? If that's you, feel free to come out. Nobody here's going to hurt you. We're all friends here, so, feel free to… un-disappear if you want to. I'm just as thirsty for answers as you are. I bet Index was too tired to explain, huh? This whole thing must be pretty confusing for you, I'd bet. I'm confused, too, so don't worry too much about it."

And, then, from nothingness she emerged, lips curled downward into a small frown.


	40. Dawn of War

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Quick announcement: following the conclusion of this chapter, the Revelations Arc of a Certain Broken Testament will come to a close.
> 
> Prepare yourselves, my wonderful readers. The buildup of tension throughout the narrative will be leading into another arc; when Science and Magic clash, a story of war, of horror, and of suffering will be told.
> 
> Prepare yourselves for the World War IV Arc.

There was seemingly no limit to the number of small facial contortions performed by those among the assembled group who didn't know of her. Those within the concave space who watched on seemed capable only of doing exactly that.

Academy City was more than simply 'known' to produce some strange things, but invisible girls had to be near the absolute top of the nonexistent "Academy City strangeness" spectrum.

The Amakusan Holy Vanguard, Itsuwa raised an eyebrow but didn't speak a word, merely observing the once-invisible girl as she stepped forward, fingers intertwined with one another behind her back. She exchanged a glance with Kamijou Touma, who after a brief delay moved to follow the once-invisible girl.

So, she must've been another harem member. Itsuwa had to forcibly will herself to keep from laughing, despite (or perhaps because of) the overt seriousness of the moment.

Having lifted her hand from the hilt of her elongated blade, Kanzaki Kaori, the Saint of the Far East kept an eye on the proceedings; the girl with the long, brown hair, a single knot tied off to the side and bound with a small collection of beads _looked_ harmless, but, many an enemy could make themselves _look_ harmless. If need be, a rushing strike could be performed, the hypothetical assault's speed challenging the very speed of sound itself. Hopefully, the incident playing out before the Saint wouldn't end in fisticuffs.

The Amakusan Substitute Supreme Pontiff had taken to briefly abandoning his duties. At first, though it'd seemed that Kamijou Touma had finally lost his mind, having taken to speaking to an imaginary friend of some sort, once the Substitute Supreme Pontiff looked up from his work, the 'imaginary' friend was not imaginary at all. Leave it to Academy City to develop such a potentially devastating esper ability.

He clicked his tongue, but vocalized no words before returning to his duties. Picking up his pen, Saiji further studied the miniature battlefield and jotted down further notes onto his pad of paper. If there was an issue, the Priestess would handle it. Duty came before personal desire to gawk at uncertain proceedings.

And, so, given the glances she received from all parties involved, it firstly came as something of a surprise that she didn't close the distance between herself and any of those among the group who gazed upon her. She didn't stride towards them, though she did pay them mirthful glances, and offer them her warm and generous smile.

Given that she was a strange person indeed, it firstly came as no surprise that Kamijou Touma quickly took to her side. With a gentle pat to her shoulder, he too looked forward.

Instead of approaching one of three human beings in the concave space, as was expected, she gently and gracefully strode towards the insectoid creature, the Prophet Skoram.

The two perpetually exchanged glances, even as the 'march' of Kazakiri Hyouka, the sentient collection of AIM Diffusion Fields came to a close.

Then, she extended a hand outwards, allowing the other to fall to her side where it came to hang almost limply, drifting gently back and forth like the beams of a wind chime pushed about by the soft kisses of a light summer's breeze.

Skoram extended its corresponding, sharpened upper 'limb', and the sentient collection of AIM Diffusion Fields took it into her hand. She firmly shook the extremity, and then loosed it from her grasp.

Kazakiri Hyouka tilted her head to one side, and beneath the lenses of her glasses, her eyelids closed shut.

"It's such a pleasure to meet all of you! My name is Hyouka, and I'm a friend of Kamijou-san's from Academy City. What's your name? I assume you have one! Everyone has a name. You don't have to feel shy! I'm different, too."

For a moment, and only for a very brief moment, the Prophet Skoram seemed to choose to remain silent.

Then, revealing its whipping, tendril-like tongues from within the confines of its gumdrop-shaped head, it 'properly' spoke, either of its jaws shifting in place, from one side, and then to the other.

"Your greeting is received with welcome and much mutual fondness, "Hyouka". Strange minds, you humans from "Academy City" seem to possess. I remain incapable of reaching you and of reaching your Champion. I loathe speaking in this manner… So _very_ uncomfortable."

With a shaking of her head, no, Kazakiri Hyouka raised her right hand. Like a cartoonish depiction of a mole jutting up from the Earth's soil, her index finger practically popped up.

"Ah, well, thank you for your kindness, but that's where you're not entirely correct. I'm not really human, not in the same way that the others here are human. I'm made differently."

"… Hm, indeed, "Academy City" has birthed many unique beings."

Even as the exchange shared between Hyouka and Prophet Skoram seemed to have come to a rather ceremonious close, the sentient collection of AIM Diffusion Fields turned to those who dwelled within the realm of the Magic Side, and to her friend, Kamijou Touma.

"I'm sorry for intruding. I know you have a… A thing, going on. I wasn't trying to be detected, and I PROMISE that I wasn't doing anything suspicious! I wanted to hear what was happening, but I didn't want to get in the way…"

About to continue, Touma quickly interjected, proverbially impeding his friend's progress, and building a verbal wall, one which Hyouka just barely managed to avoid crashing into.

"You're not "in the way", Kazakiri. You deserve to know as much as anyone else does. You've already been involved before, you just didn't know it. You don't deserve to be lied to."

With a bow of her head, Kazakiri Hyouka continued from where she'd been forced to leave off in her brief elaboration.

"I guess that's what ended up happening, anyways, so it doesn't really matter. So… Uh… Again, s-sorry, I would like to continue listening in if you don't mind. This "magic" business is kind of a big deal to me; it is now at least. If there's anything I can do to prevent the sort of violence Sanctis-san talked about from spreading, I'll do it. People who went on to become my friends, they stood up for me when I needed help, so it's only fair for me to return the favour."

"If there aren't any more interruptions," Saiji snapped, "we don't have all evening."

The Substitute Supreme Pontiff soon came to regret his decision to snap. She practically shrunk, as the Priestess of the Amakusa shot her underling a disapproving glare.

Though it took her some moments, Tatemiya Saiji quickly recovered his lost confidence; in what he considered a more dignified response, he merely clicked her tongue, and shook his head in aggravation, muttering softly under his breath, wordless, frustrated vocalizations fleeing from between her lips.

Once Kanzaki Kaori pulled her vision away from her Substitute Supreme Pontiff, she offered a very different facial expression to Kazakiri Hyouka, who she smiled warmly at.

"Without a doubt, any friend of Kamijou Touma's I count as a friend of my own, and as a friend to the Amakusa."

While Saiji soon fell silent, completing the unknown duties he'd set out to (or had been ordered to) complete, Kanzaki Kaori continued her interaction with Kazakiri Hyouka, though, she posed a query, rather than vocalizing a straight statement.

"I presume you're aware of our Church's nature? You should be, if you attended Sanctis-san's briefing."

"Vaguely," was Hyouka's swiftly-delivered answer, "I know you were once affiliated with a "Church of England", and the sort of separate, method-twisting techniques in which your own Church specializes… A lot of the terminology Sanctis-san spoke of went above my head, but I only learned of the existence of this "magic" some days ago, so I guess that's to be expected. Kamijou-san was kind enough to let me in on the secret, which, if Agnese-san's words are anything to go by, could do without being a secret."

"The Church of the Cross abuses its vast power," Kaori stated, rather cryptically. "This is a major part of the reason why the Amakusa acting as we are, and why we've officially left the Church of England's side. Unofficially and not officially, though, there're layers of strategy behind this move."

The Prophet Skoram seemed to skitter about, for a moment, the tips of its pointed legs repeatedly clacking against the smoothed, flat golden flooring, the central point within the concave space.

"The Roman Orthodox Church is entirely responsible for a wide array of worldwide tragedies, including the creation of the Traditionalist Roman Orthodox Crusade, which flies in the face of the Church's status as a supposed force of good in the world.

"Aside from being those who pulled the strings of and indirectly triggered World War Three, which, if you were unaware, took the lives of close to a billion people in less than eleven days, the Roman Orthodox Church, through the Traditionalist Crusade is responsible for the ethnic cleansing occurring throughout Iraq, the People's Democratic Republic of Iran and Saudi Arabia, three nations which are under the moderate Islam Reformation Society's control, and are therefore friendly to the western world."

From a small pile of papers, Tatemiya Saiji quickly pulled a singular sheet.

Eight and a half by eleven, as each of the sheets in the small and easily managed pile of papers were, Saiji passed the sheet to Kanzaki Kaori, who then placed the sheet down upon a free section of the wide, unwieldy table-map, with its vast depictions of greenery, tributaries and brown-grey splotch-like masses which were more than likely mountainous spaces viewed from a top-down perspective.

Kamijou and Kazakiri turned their respective attentions to the sheet of paper, and to the contents detailed upon its flattened, glossy surface.

It was a news article, from a source which referred to itself as "RFT", a trio of Russian characters. In fact, the entirety of the article's contents was in Russian.

Detailed within was a discussion of a subject which found itself clashing with the Western World's slant on the matter, though Kazakiri Hyouka would've had no way of knowing this. Only through his delving into the Internet's vast and almost completely uncharted darkness did Kamijou Touma obtain knowledge of the proceedings; yet, even then, the narrative slant of the stories shared within 'illegal' forums were often all too easy to pick out, like a series of sore thumbs.

According to the article, the Roman Orthodox Church, a superpower in and of itself had boots on the ground in the exact locations the Saint had previously mentioned.

Screenshots of Western media outlets referring to the ethnic groups targeted, particularly within countries and city-states that dotted the continent of Africa as "Islamic extremists", and calling for the downfall of these "extremists" were displayed within the article.

Touma found himself picking up on the frightened expression which painted Kazakiri Hyouka's facial features.

"The Roman Orthodoxy would have no purpose to pursue such an agenda outside of ulterior movies," Kaori stated, with a firm, almost viciously-delivered flatness. "The world's media seemed to have sided with the Church, whether through coercion or through ignorance I can't say, making the act of taking a stance against the Roman Orthodoxy all the harder for just about everyone."

Though Kanzaki Kaori ceased her brief elaboration there, both Hyouka and Touma exchanged glances, both with differing thoughts in their respective higher minds.

Hyouka couldn't even begin guessing as to why such information hadn't been covered on Academy City's news stations – censorship seemed like the likely culprit, but, why? Wasn't the purpose of the news to inform watchers about current events, to make watchers, readers and listeners aware of the incidents unfolding in the world around them?

Touma, who'd certainly long been privy to such information through exchanging of news stories within 'illegal' dark web forums, where only the goriest of world news stories were shared, could only assume that censorship was to blame; yet, his thoughts drifted in the same direction as Kazakiri Hyouka's own. Why would Academy City censor such information? It had no love for the Magic Side. It had no love for the world beyond its walls. Would turning its citizens against those beyond its walls not make the most sense, from a business and tactical standpoint, for Academy City?

Just what were those bastards planning out? Touma could only speculate, maddeningly grasping blindly at truths just beyond reach.

Ironically, from another standpoint, it made all the sense in the world, at least by Touma's standards.

The tales of ethnic cleansing taking place across the globe mustn't have fit the narrative Academy City's news media was attempting to construct, whatever narrative that might've been.

It wasn't about facts, and it wasn't about information. It was all about driving a population's beliefs and opinions in a certain direction. In the realm of corporate brainwashing, Academy City was king.

Unfortunately, it was overwhelmingly obvious that not everyone was aware. Not everyone had seen the truth as Kamijou Touma had. He silently and invisibly wept for those who were all too blissfully unaware.

Then, both Kazakiri and Kamijou were tugged from the depths of their own inner considerations.

"But we'll get to that. I'd prefer to keep this discussion flowing in chronological order."

Kanzaki Kaori's words earned the respective attentions of both beings who called Academy City home. Both parties turned to face the Saint, who folded her arms beneath her bosom.

"As Itsuwa already… delightfully mentioned… our distant ancestors, born some few million years before even our parents' parents' parents were introduced to what we in the modern world refer to as 'esper abilities' by the Ahnk'ji peoples, whom our ancestors crossed paths with by chance.

"Some of us, but not all retain our contact with the Ahnk'ji, those among us who choose to do so refer to ourselves as "The Sons of Taured", as we follow the teachings of the Prophet, Taured, who originally made contact with our distant ancestors.

"Kamijou Touma, Kazakiri Hyouka… at the behest of the Prophet Taured, they offered their knowledge to us, in the hopes that we would Awaken and come to view the world as they did. They hoped that we would respect our world, and each other.

"Through the use of our peoples' newfound power, what we in the modern world refer to as 'esper abilities', which most of the world's entire population assumes to have originated in Academy City, we were without the need to rob the world of its resources. Espers could conjure water, call forth fire, and even generate consumable, plant-based matter."

Though Kaori's elaboration could've continued, Kamijou Touma swiftly interjected, effectively walling the supplying of exposition regarding the veiled past.

"So, what went wrong, Kanzaki? Why are the Americans digging up what's left of Siberia for oil? Why are rain forests being sliced down like a bunch of weeds in someone's garden? Wait don't tell me, I can guess this one… The answer's money. It's all about money. Am I right, or am I right? Money equals power."

The Saint of the Far East merely nodded her head, facial expression turning to a grim shade of its former self. Biting into her lower lip, she wordlessly hissed.

Offended? Perhaps she was merely frustrated, and was wordlessly expressing that sentiment. Kamijou Touma didn't know, and Kazakiri Hyouka wasn't about to interrupt for a second time.

"We don't quite know what happened to the espers who once dominated the planet, who came to share it with the envious magicians, those who hadn't had the luck of crossing paths with the Ahnk'ji and receiving the same teachings as the ancient espers. Some presume them to have been wiped out and others assume them to have gone extinct, despite their free control over the world around them.

"It's one among many matters we'll likely never have an airtight explanation for. For now, let's skip ahead in time, and push forward, past the first and second World Wars, far past the armed conflicts of the distant past and even our own loss of contact with the Ahnk'ji, who would come to fear and loathe what we'd become…"

Kaori looked upwards, as she leaned forward on the ornate table. The Amakusan Holy Vanguard, Itsuwa, produced a soft yawn, and Saiji remained focused on his duties, which seemed only to involve jotting down something, of some sort and of some importance onto her ever-shrinking pad of paper. He'd created a small pile of papers, each ripped from the pad and defiled with barely-coherent scribbling of Japanese alphabet characters.

Looking to Touma, who'd come to place either of his hands into his pockets, and then to Hyouka, who'd gracefully intertwined her fingers, and placed her hands neatly near the skirt of her Kirigaoka Girls' Academy uniform.

And, so, both Touma and Hyouka then looked to one another. The being who'd once been a 'normal high school boy' offered the sentient collection of AIM Diffusion Fields a reassuring smirk, one which she responded to with a mirthful and warm grin.

Her friend wasn't about to find himself alone, shouldering the burden on his own as he always had. No matter what was said, no matter the revelations delivered upon them by Kanzaki Kaori, someone who was apparently something known as a "Saint", someone of incredible power and incredible important, Kazakiri Hyouka would leave the sidelines to be occupied by another, someone less proactive.

So long as he didn't protest, Kamijou Touma, her friend, would never face another trial alone.

"From this point," the Saint began, "I'll be translating the words of Prophet Skoram, a being older and wiser than any among even the Amakusa, and certainly wiser than those who continue to follow the religious establishment.

"You'd do well to ponder, but not immediately doubt these words, or the claims discussed herein. The truth is often stranger than any fiction… We're nearing the halfway point of our discussion so please do attempt to remain attentive, despite the late hour. For what it might be worth, I do understand any jitters you might be suffering from."

Despite (or, alternatively, perhaps because of) Kaori's call for attentiveness, Itsuwa, the Amakusan Holy Vanguard yawned one final time, and then unceremoniously tumbled forward, free falling for the briefest of fleeting moments, before her chin landed upon the edge of the nearby table.

With an off-putting grin on her face, the Holy Vanguard softly snored. She'd completely lost consciousness as slumber had wrapped its warm arms around her body and her mind. Pulled into its depths, she became utterly unaware of the world around her; for all her dreaming mind new, the Amakusan Holy Vanguard knew of no world beyond the dreamscapes conjured by her perpetually-wandering subconscious mind.

Saiji clenched his fist, which resulted in the breaking of the pen he'd been using, up to that point. Dark, almost navy blue ink spilled out, both onto the table and onto her hand. Eyelids sliding shut, he cursed under his breath as she approached, and then slung the unconscious Itsuwa over his shoulder.

Wordlessly he departed, leaving through the same passageway which Kamijou Touma had navigated, cursing again and again, like a particularly irate trucker.

There were no comments about the events that'd played out. Kamijou Touma and Kazakiri Hyouka had merely exchanged glances, while the Prophet Skoram hadn't even seemed to notice the unfolding events.

"Ahem."

The Saint of the Far East softly cleared her throat; in the absence of any obstruction, she cleared only her own passing saliva.

"Forgive the interruption. You'll come to see, Kazakiri-san, that those who have gathered to the Amakusa's banner are… Different from most, from many different walks of life, from many cultures and racial backgrounds. Regardless of differences and regardless of distractions, I'll continue from where the Prophet and I left off.

"To summarize an otherwise lengthy tale, leaving out unnecessary details, those which don't pertain directly to the issue at hand, there was a man who once more crossed paths with the Ahnk'ji, long after most had forgotten they even existed – most, but not all. I now transcribe directly from the words of the Prophet himself.

"From the initial beginnings, it may sound like an innocuous tale, even something a doting mother might read to their child. A small village within the landscapes we refer to as Great Britain, not too far from where we stand, in fact, a dying man and a living man, a doctor, were aided by the Ahnk'ji, those who came from below… From just beyond where our feet and the Prophet's limbs find themselves planted. It would be ironic that this small village, this settlement, would be the meeting point shared by the Amakusa and the Ahnk'ji, through the failed machinations of the Church of England.

"But I won't dwell on the details surrounding that meeting. With their aid, this dying man was able to heal his wounds, after being taught the means through which 'esper abilities' are developed. It took mere moments for one of these abilities to manifest within the dying man. Those in "Academy City" would refer to this ability as "Undo Marring", an ability which heavily augments the human body's inborn self-healing processes."

Before Kanzaki Kaori could continue with her transcription, Kamijou Touma took a step forward, one step and one step alone. With his hand raised, as if to silently request a temporary 'time out', the Imagine Breaker's former Bearer spoke his unrehearsed piece.

"Hate to interrupt, but, Kanzaki, look here. Esper abilities can take months to develop through the Power Curriculum. I know of a girl who's been trying to develop her ability for years, and she still hasn't gotten even a single developmental boost. I have my own theories regarding that, but, theorizing aside I can't see how esper abilities or the "Ahnk'ji" equivalent could be developed in a few minutes. It just doesn't seem possible."

"I don't have the answer to that," Kaori, ceasing her transcription remarked, "I'm not a high-ranking researcher in Academy City, so their methods are beyond me. Through that… Traitor… Tsuchimikado, however, we've come to know that Academy City prioritizes research and study above actual, visible development, for what purpose we can't be certain.

"I renew my transcription once more. The dying man and the living doctor both fled the small settlement, in which those from below had come to their rescue. They fled from the entirety of the world's population that wielded the force humans have come to know as magic. To Japan they fled together, with the Prophet's blessing and, close to Tokyo, that island nation's capital, "Academy City" came to rise, becoming what we see before us now, when we look beyond the City's border walls. It is at this point that I should reveal the true identity of this dying man, who managed to escape his fate. The dying man's name was "Aleister Crowley."

"Aleister Crowley? The guy who invented that Spirit Cooking religion? What was it that Index called it? Thelomo? Thel… Thelama?

"Thelema, Champion."

"Kanzaki, or, "Skoram", I… I don't get what you're talking about. He's dead and to boot, he died half a century ago, in the borough of Hastings, in the county of East Sussex, England. Age seventy-two. We learned all of this stuff in our lessons. You've got your info wrong."

Though both the Prophet Skoram and the Saint of the Far East exchanged glances, the issue wasn't pursued any further, in the sake of both brevity and convenience. That could be tended to later.

"We jump ahead through the passageways of time once more," Kanzaki Kaori stated, abandoning the previous topic of conversation; the relevance of the conversation had come to be irrelevant, regardless. It was a good of a time as any to move onto the 'meat' of the elaboration. "As well, I cease my transcription; I can accurately deliver the necessary knowledge on my own.

"The Roman Orthodox Traditionalist Crusade pushes ever-forward, ignored by Academy City, with the world's media focused on what remains of the unreformed Islamic states.

"While Eastern European media outlets are sympathetic, calling for the West's aid, the West remains sided with the Roman Orthodox Church. Even the Church of England, both its outer layers and Necessarius alike within have thrown their support to the side of the Crusade.

"Furthermore, the Islamification of many South and West African countries and city-states has done little to rile the West's concerns about the Crusade's presence. According to the West's media outlets, everyone in these countries and city-states deserves to die, simply because their leaders refuse to join the Reformation Society. Many individual peoples are being viewed as some sort of grand hive mind, one lone group. Extremist groups in these locations are not a proper indicator of the entire population.

"Moreover, I would rhetorically inquire, what would prevent the Traditionalist Crusade from ravaging Europe, if their rape of the Middle-Eastern states and the continent of Africa comes to a close? These are the questions the world doesn't seem to be asking, and, therefore, they're the questions we've been forced to ask ourselves."

And, so, given the mentioning of Europe, it seemed that Kazakiri Hyouka, for the briefest of moments, neared the ever-slimming edge of panic, drifting almost dangerously close to the very slope. Swiftly, however, the sentient collection of AIM Diffusion Fields seemed to get a hold of herself; turning her gaze to the Saint of the Far East, Hyouka spoke.

"What Kamijou-san believes to be members of this Crusade were spotted close by," Hyouka interjected, breaking her extended period of silence. "If this "Roman Orthodox Traditionalist Crusade" is waging a Holy War of some nature, what would their presence in the United Kingdom mean for those living here?"

"They weren't just casually passing through," Touma quickly added, "the whole bunch of them, mounted up on horses, armor, weapons, the whole cavalry deal were dragging this massive, metal cage behind them, full of people, I can only assume they weren't heading for a fun family trip to the circus. You don't have to worry about 'em, Index and I _took_ _care_ of the problem, but, for a minute, just think about it, if there's one group, there's bound to be more. Kazakiri's got the right idea. If they're here, what does that mean for the United Kingdom and for Europe?"

Though Kanzaki Kaori was poised to respond, the Prophet Skoram gently nudged her hip with the curled, smooth point of one of its six legs. The two exchanged nods, followed by a brief "handshake"; it was a one-sided handshake, at the very least. One of the participants possessed a hand.

Then, like a frame edited out of the final cut of a feature film, the Prophet was gone, disappearing with only a very brief "whoosh" accompanying its departure.

In fact, the mechanics utilized were very similar to, but were considerably more advanced than the calculations utilized by Musujime Awaki's ability, Move Point. Effectively, somehow, the Ahnk'ji had mastered a natural form of the legendary, falsely-forged Multi-Skill.

"The Prophet has been willed to return to his place at the Honoured High Prophet Taured's side," Kaori elaborated. "As all Prophets often remain with their High Prophet at all times, merely for ceremonial purposes rather than for tactical, his willingness to meet with us was an act of high honour and of great respect."

"Thanks for the history lesson, Kanzaki," Touma retorted, "but, what about this Crusade? If they're hauling people off in cages, right here in England, there's something way up shit creek about that… Sorry… Kanzaki. Didn't mean to snap at you.

"No one is perfect, Kamijou Touma. It was hardly even a slight."

"Still, I know that you're just trying to keep us in the know, and it's really good of you. Even if things aren't turning out the way they were meant to, that's fine. If we'd ended up helping to further the Church of England's fucked up schemes, then, that wouldn't have helped anyone, not anyone who deserves to live."

The Saint of the Far East merely hand-waved the issue; evidently, she wasn't offended.

"There are a large number of individuals living right here in England who originally lived in the Middle-Eastern states, especially those that have since been taken under the wing of the Reformation Society."

The Saint's words spurred Kazakiri Hyouka to interject, no matter how much she sought to do otherwise.

"And what does that mean?"

"I'm very grateful that you and Index were able to spot the Crusaders meandering about, and that you could subsequently 'deal' with the issue. Without a doubt in my mind, Kazakiri-san, the Roman Orthodox Traditionalist Crusade has boots on the ground in England for the purpose of carrying out sweeping ethnic cleansing, under the guise of rooting out "Islamic terrorists"… but they won't get far."

Both Kamijou Touma and Kazakiri Hyouka exchanged glances, and then, turning their respective gazes to Kanzaki Kaori, both parties looked sternly and expectantly, respectively, to the Saint.

"We've since obtained the 'artifact' which brought you all the way from Academy City, here, to us from Leivinia Birdway's cabal, the 'Dawn-Colored Sunlight'. As it would turn out, this 'artifact' is, in fact, a piece of demon hunter weaponry known as a Soulgrinder. It should hardly come as a surprise that the Church of England and, more accurately, Necessarius would purposefully misinform its own operatives. To summarize, it grounds the loosened spirits of daemoniac beings – demons – and converts them, utilizing these loosed spirits as a resource, into a mode of ammunition. With this weapon in Amakusan custody, our Church has been able to sign a brief contract with the Dawn-Colored Sunlight."

"Demon hunter?" What's a "demon hunter?" Kazakiri Hyouka inquired.

Kamijou Touma possessed no desire to utter queries, as valid as Hyouka's query was, especially given her uninformed nature. He'd conveniently (but frustratingly) crossed paths Birdway and her "pet" enough times to know what a demon hunter was.

"Dawn-Colored… that's Birdway's group. So, in spite of the whole reason we're here right now, you, or, we're _with_ them now, even though Tsuchimi… that goddamn dead man walking, serpent, dragged the girls and I out here to gouge her throat out?"

"As strange as it may seem, the answer to your rhetorical question, Kamijou Touma, is "yes". We, the Amakusa, the Sons of Taured, the Dawn-Colored Sunlight and quite possibly the Russian Orthodox Church soon move to assault the religious establishment from two fronts. Birdway's cabal plots to directly assault the Church of England in its bid for absolute control over magical affairs; surprisingly, Birdway herself has been lenient and even sympathetic to our own goals.

"As most in her position would, she plans to execute something of a heart-strike… to slay the serpent the head must first be taken off. The head of Necessarius, and of the Church of England, my once-benefactors, those who once offered the Amakusa a home… Those who used us like mere disposable tools, those who stole the innocence and normalcy from an innocent, silver-haired girl, after all, is…"

Kanzaki Kaori changed the direction of her gaze, as she took to the table. Leaning before it, she rested her body's weight upon one arm, a palm placed flatly on the table's surface, and pointed to a certain spot on the unwieldy map with her available hand's index finger, the tip hovering just above a red-coloured game piece, accenting it like a halo floating mere inches above an Angel's head.

"… The point of the heart-strike would be St. George's Cathedral."

Though Kamijou Touma planned to speak to Kanzaki Kaori, he turned his gaze first to Kazakiri Hyouka, whose own his gaze clashed against.

He was so _close_. He was so _close_ to learning who had harmed Index. He was so _close_ to learning the identity of the heartless, soulless piece of living garbage who had continuously manipulated an innocent little girl's closest friends into wiping her memories over, and over, and _over_. Every year.

Kamijou Touma could almost taste their blood.

"This is a whole lot of craziness, isn't it, Kazakiri?"

The sentient collection of AIM Diffusion Fields admitted, with a bow of her head.

"Y-Yes."

Though he closed the distance between himself and Kazakiri Hyouka, swiftly taking her right hand into his left, the latter action seemingly generating a blush open Hyouka's cheeks, charged simply by principal alone, Kamijou Touma soon turned his eyes' vision to the Saint.

"Well, that's magic for you, it's all crazy. There's nothing normal about it. Honestly? You'd find more stability in an orphanage run by a stereotypically evil, buzzword-spouting headmistress."

Then, shortly following the vocalizing of his words, Touma quickly released Hyouka's hand, stepping away as if he'd committed some great wrongdoing. Switching the target of his vision once more, Touma placed either of his hands into his pockets.

"Sorry. I… uh… forgot. You know. About…"

"No, Kamijou-san, it's okay. I don't mind, and, I… um… I lied. I don't have a b-boyfriend. It was… a diversion, it allowed me to trail your group more easily, y-you see. I didn't want to get in the way, but I wanted to keep watch and make sure everything went alright. I humbly apolog…"

One hand soon connected once more with another.

"No reason to be sorry, Kazakiri. You did what you thought was the right thing to do. Nobody was hurt, and nothing shitty happened – Hell, without you, that shit with Accelerator could've gotten ugly. **I** should be thanking **you**. I don't give a fuck about the situation, I'm grateful that you decided to come with us."

A final time, the target of Kamijou Touma's gaze alternated.

"Look, Kanzaki, okay, I get everything that's happening here. I get it, I can understand."

"I'm glad," Kanzaki Kaori remarked, a smile tugging at the corners of her lips.

Though Kamijou Touma returned the gesture, he continued along the proverbial path he'd strode.

"As usual, the Roman Orthodox Church is doing fucked up shit, and there are people who don't want to tolerate it anymore. I can _dig_ that, I really can, it's time for these asswipes to be… excuse the pun… wiped off the planet. There's also a conspiracy involving bug-people, but, given the weird shit I've come across, that's really more par for the course… I just have one question left."

"Ask, and I'll answer to the best of my ability, Kamijou Touma."

"If you, the Amakusa, are with this Sons of Taured organization-group-thing, then maybe you can riddle me this. What's with the fliers? I think I get that you want the populace of Academy City to wake up and face the music, but, espers who've been through the Power Curriculum get fucked when they try to use magic. I'm not about to freak out on you and start swinging fists around, but, I _do_ want answers."

And, so, as Kanzaki Kaori studied the material jotted down by New Light's former Leader, she simultaneously spoke her piece.

"You're hardly incorrect; Academy City's espers do suffer gravely when they attempt to refine the mana necessary for spellcasting. However, within the pages of the pamphlets is a detailed guide which can be followed in order to remove this limitation, utilizing Side-neutral methods that circumvent the chains placed on almost every esper in Academy City. Yes, it is indeed a removable limitation, imposed upon Academy City's espers by those who wish to advance an agenda, those who are aware of both Sides.

"I won't lie to you, Kamijou Touma, Kazakiri-san. The truth of the matter is that there will be death. It can't be prevented, but to rile the people of the world, all across the globe is the only method in which the Roman Orthodox Church, and, by extension, their English Puritan enablers will be cast down. Humanity must rise as one and face those that would drive us to extinction, and place us in chains."

"I agree."

Rising, abandoning the duties she'd temporarily taken up as her own, Kanzaki Kaori, the Saint of the Far East looked to the Imagine Breaker's former Bearer, an expression of curiosity painting itself over her facial features.

Though seemingly less curious, Kazakiri Hyouka too turned not all that far to face Kamijou Touma.

Seemingly, she expected Touma to elaborate; this was the message he derived, at least, and so he did exactly that.

"The "greater good" is fucked up, in concept," Touma elaborated, "but it's the greater good only to an extent. If you think the greater good is some sort of mass extinction, then, that's not the greater good. The greater good is trying to do something inherently right, at least in most peoples' viewpoints…

"What I'm trying to get at is that, if some espers in Academy City are too trigger-happy for their own good, and don't read the instructions in the pamphlet, then, shit's going to happen. It sucks, a person dying isn't something that anyone likes, but no one can save everyone. You can't protect every smile. You can try, but, in the end, you're going to fail, crash and burn. Everything you've ever known will come crumbling down, and reality will slap you right in your face."

For a moment, Kanzaki Kaori's gaze lingered, as she beheld the Imagine Breaker's former Bearer.

"In a perfect world, perhaps, everyone could be saved."

"Kanzaki, you don't want a perfect world. It's twisted in concept and it's even more twisted when it's put to work in reality. So, I guess that ends our exposition dump. Am I right, or, is there something else we're missing?"

In response, Kaori merely shook her head, no, and began sorting a number of the sheets that Bayloupe had covered in her ink scribbling.

"So? Might the Amakusa and the Sons of Taured rely on your support, Kamijou Touma? Kazakiri-san? Your fellows, whether they be your friends or your lovers, I can't quite be sure which is the case, have already signed themselves onto the cause – the young lady with the red hair seemed to be particularly interested, as did Index, which came as something of a surprise to me. It'd seem that becoming your friend has helped her grow considerably, Kamijou Touma."

" _It would seem that I'm in your debt once more."_

"The Roman Orthodox Church needs a pummelling to set them straight? Count me in," Touma stated, tone of voice layered with an almost ruthless firmness.

While her close friend's own admission of involvement had come quite quickly and seemingly without hesitation, Kazakiri Hyouka didn't produce vocalizations with such reckless abandon. There were matters to consider, after all.

But were there _really_?

What was there to be debated? What if those who'd go on to become her friends merely chose to turn their backs, when she needed help, when that magician who could summon that monstrosity forged of stone and metal was out for her head? She was but one person, a singular grain of sand among billions of the proverbial beach that was the planet known as Earth.

It was about time for Kazakiri Hyouka to pay it forward. She wasn't some powerless level zero, or even a low-level esper. She wasn't even human. With her unnatural strength, with her borderline invulnerability, the "Roman Orthodox Church", whoever they were could be challenged, and whatever horrors they sought to deliver upon the human race through their misguided, genocidal rampage across the globe quite possibility brought to a grinding halt.

No, there wasn't even a single question about it in the mind of the sentient collection of AIM Diffusion Fields that'd taken on the form of a female human being and come to name itself "Kazakiri Hyouka". Hyouka had come this far, and the sight of human beings herded like animals, hauled off in a cold, metal cage was a sight that continued to haunt her mind's eye.

It was then that Kazakiri Hyouka noticed two sets of eyes focused their respective gazes on her.

Strengthening her resolve, Kazakiri Hyouka looked up from the floor beneath her loafer-clad feet, brow furrowing.

"I'll do whatever I can to help the people being targeted by this "Roman Orthodox Traditionalist Crusade."

And so Kanzaki Kaori drew her blade, Shichiten Shichitou. Holding the weapon outwards, the Saint of the Far East muttered a brief, near-wordless incantation under her breath, before returning the blade to its scabbard.

"For the sake of convenience, Kamijou Touma, I now knight you and yours as honorary members of the Amakusa-style Remix of Church… there aren't any particular ceremonies for an honorary knighting. As Priestess, my word is enough to solidify the knighting as legitimate. Dismissed. Take this time to wind down, as we've got some few weeks before Birdway's forces are ready to mobilize. Consider your stay in England to be an all-expense paid vacation from Academy City. For now, leave the worrying to us."

Kaori soon returned to her business, just as the Substitute Supreme Pontiff of the Amakusans returned, entering the concave space and silently acknowledging both Hyouka and Touma with a brief, affirmative nod.

But before Kamijou departed, he asked a question of Kanzaki Kaori. It was a question which left the Saint slightly unnerved.

"Kanzaki, can you be honest with me for a second? I need you to tell me something. I need you to tell me about who started it all. Who Index ran away from. Who was it that kept wiping her memories every year? Making you and Stiyl fuck with her head?"

The answer Touma received was short, simple, and straight to the point. Kaori held no reservations and restrained nothing in her response.

"Archbishop Laura Stuart", of the Church of England. Head of the 0th Parish, Necessarius."

"I'll remember that name, Kanzaki. No one else will. She won't be getting a _fucking_ gravestone."

Though Hyouka herself had nearly found herself slipping back into the deep recesses of her own mind, she was pulled back to the metaphorical ocean's proverbial shoreline by a tap to the shoulder. The index and middle finger of Touma's right hand repeatedly rose and fell, making contact freely.

"Hell of a first day in England," he spoke casually, despite the proceedings that'd only just concluded, "I don't know about you, but I'm feeling like a few minutes of R and R are in order. What do you think, Kazakiri?"

"I think…" Hyouka began, hesitating for only a moment before she bucked up and, with a huff turned to face Kamijou Touma, "I think that sounds like a great idea, but I don't want to get too comfortable… My friend. There are people to help and there are friends to make. Even if we can't save every person and protect every smile, we can do _something_."

"Being a realist doesn't mean not kicking yourself into gear and doing your best."

"Honestly, I'm just sick of these guys, Kamijou-san. They disturbed the Festival in the summer and almost destroyed the fabric of everything we knew with that cross-thing of theirs, and…"

"And? You can finish that thought, Kazakiri, no one's going to judge you, not here."

"I'll… never forgive that Thomson woman for her stupidity and naivety. Call it a grudge, call it whatever you want. Maybe I'm being emotional, but how can she expect for everything to be fine, after what she did? What she was involved with?"

Even as the two began to depart, leaving Kanzaki Kaori and Tatemiya Saiji to their own devices, even as they ascended, alternating and weaving through the passage system which lead from the innocuous, fake-abandoned settlement of Hawkhaven and down into something lost and forgotten, something from another time before time, Kamijou Touma couldn't help but softly chuckle, more to himself than to Kazakiri Hyouka.

"That's a bit complicated, Kazakiri. It's complicated for me, at least. Whatever feelings you have, those are yours. I'm not going to start telling you that you're not living your life correctly, or that "eVeRyOnE's SmIlE cAn bE PrOtEcTeD, uh, DUH!" Whatever business you have with Thomson, that's yours. You want to slap the fuck out of her? Go ahead, slap the fuck out of her. That's not my business."

As the two ascended the passageways leading back to the surface from this place that seemed beyond modern time, as if it was a chunk of some other dimension lost in their own, Kamijou Touma found himself being embraced by her. Hyouka's arms wrapped around his shoulders.

"You're in a lot of pain, aren't you Kamijou-san...?"

* * *

What neither Kamijou Touma nor Kazakiri Hyouka could have conceived of, from the subterranean depths beneath the Hawkhaven motel, was that word had reached the highest point of Academy City's food chain. From Gladio-Oculus Operative Dave Horton to his superiors, from his superiors to Gladio's very own Director, from Gladio's very own Director to Academy City's General Superintended.

Academy City's twenty-third school district - a colossal district so vast that basic travel necessitated the use of public transport, or alternatively, personal vehicles as opposed to travel by foot - had become a launching point for the most technologically-developed weaponry the planet Earth had ever seen. Stealth bombers. Fighter jets. Colossal flying machines that barely looked capable of achieving liftoff at all. All were silver in colouration, save for the jet-black stealth bombers, triangular in shape. Given that much more than half of this school district's landscapes were dominated by runways, much of Academy City's military might was provided with much proverbial breathing room.

These engines of war required no _true_ breathing room, for they were unmanned. Unfeeling. Without basic human empathy that a flesh-and-blood pilot might have provided. Killing machines, in the most literal sense of the term.

The artificially-flattened landscape of the twenty-third school district provided no cover from the winds which gusted. Planet Earth herself seemed to sense that something loomed, and brought her wings to gust in response.

To further strengthen the tides of war.

The seemingly endless tides of paved asphalt spoke volumes regarding this school district's purpose. Nature had been snuffed out here. Grasslands had been torn asunder, flattened and paved over. Natural woodlands had been uprooted during Academy City's construction, dispersing native populations of fauna that called those woodlands home.

An ugly blight, one which existed just outside Eastern Tokyo.

Academy City's military might was further augmented by the presence of weaponized, living creatures; they meandered about, their reptilian maws forced shut by the presence of tightened, metallic muzzles.

Their saurian features were almost entirely muted by thick plates of body armour layered upon their backsides. Similar, thick, overlapping armoured plates adorned their necks, and even obscured their locked jaws. With heads larger than that of a giraffe, the curious-seeming creatures with their front-facing eyes – not unlike those of a cat's – were guided not by instinct, but, apparently, by the beeping, metallic helmets strapped over their skullcaps.

Enormous, rumbling cannon-like weapons were mounted upon these beasts' hips, strapped into place by gargantuan chains. Reaching nearly thirteen meters in height, these saurians vaguely resembled the lumbering behemoths of Earth's distant past; bipedal, carnivorous dinosaurs. Thick, scaled hides were obscured by Academy City's own metallic raiments. Thin, but elongated wings protruded from their heavily-armoured backs. Long, lashing tails kicked up plumes of dust. With a wingspan of nearly forty feet, the reptilian behemoths stood upon muscular, well-developed limbs with heavy-set feet, each terminating in three toes from which jagged talons protruded.

Beneath their muzzles, these creatures that seemed to have been ripped from a land before time snarled aggressively. Occasionally, one would turn on another nearby before their helmets began to produce their loud, wailing beeps. Only then would the subdued predators relent and leave one another in peace.

Wyverns. Proof of the LSS's continued loyalty to this City's General Superintendent.

In his Windowless Building, Aleister Crowley knew that the Greek Island of Leso would not last much longer. No matter what magics the Sons of Taured possessed, no matter what martial might they could bring to bear, they simply couldn't match up to his toys.

For the first time in a long time, the 'Worst Magician' smirked.


End file.
